


April

by TeekiJane



Series: A Year Apart [9]
Category: Baby-Sitters Club - Ann M. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-19 08:10:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 39,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3602766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeekiJane/pseuds/TeekiJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With spring break just around the corner (again!) Haley's not sure whether to laugh, cry or just have a complete emotional breakdown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stage Fright

Byronp86: You’ve been quiet lately.  
Je11y_6ean_h: no I haven’t. I’ve been singing my heart out at the top of my lungs.  
Byronp86: Doofus. I meant that you haven’t been online much.  
Je11y_6ean_h: when have I had time? when I’m not at school or work, I’m at rehearsal, or gssa, or doing homework, or sleeping, or talking your insane sister off the ledge…again…or…  
Byronp86: I get it, I get it! You’re busy.  
Je11y_6ean_h: I think I passed busy about three things ago. I’m now at crazed.

I was at work the first Tuesday in April. I had the next week whole off because it was the final rehearsals for _Guys and Dolls_ and then, the performances. A year ago when I’d played Rizzo, I’d been nervous beyond belief at this point before the performance. I’d thrown up every day, at least twice, out of sheer nerve. But then I’d actually gotten on stage and discovered that I loved it. I got high on acting and singing in front of a crowd the same way some people got high on drugs. And because it was a legal, social activity, my parents were encouraging it. 

Before I could get to that point, though, I had to close down the Kitchen  & Bath front end for probably the 100th time. They’d gone through a mass hiring recently to cover two employees who had quit and also Lissa, who was on maternity leave. I was working that evening with a new girl, just her second week on the job. Lexi was sixteen, had never worked before, and was incredibly quiet and hard to get to know. It was our third time working together and I felt those facts were the only things I could really say about her with any certainty. 

I figured out pretty quickly, though, that she just took a long time getting used to new people and was much better one-on-one. I had just sent the girl manning customer service counter to clean the bathrooms and was standing in front of the doors (so I could hop behind the counter if someone needed to make a return) when Lexi started talking. “So how long have you worked here?” she asked. We were dead and she was dusting the counters between customers. 

I did the math in my head. “About ten months,” I answered. 

“And how old are you?” 

I hate that question. Any time someone asks that outside of work, I reply, ‘How old do you _think_ I am?’ I never like the responses. “Um, eighteen.” 

“And they let you run the whole front end, like a manager?” Lexi was in awe. “They must really like you here.” 

“I think I was just at the right place at the right time.” A customer came walking in the door and I watched closely. No visible return, but she might need my assistance at the counter anyway. “Hi, welcome to Kitchen  & Bath,” I called to the woman, who disappeared down the aisle into the cookware. Then I turned back to Lexi. “It’s kinda a long story.” 

She finished with the duster and dug around, returning with a bottle of spray cleaner and a roll of paper towels. “And you work Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, right?” 

“And every other Friday.” 

“Whew.” Lexi was cleaning the counter so hard I’m surprised the Formica didn’t peel off. “How do you ever have time for a social life?” 

I checked over my clipboard to see if there was anything I had forgotten to do that evening. We were right on schedule. “Social life?” I quipped. “What’s that?” She looked up from the counter. “School is crazy right now. All my teachers are assigning big projects that are due in a month or so.” Lexi nodded, moving to another part of her counter. “Anyway, both my best friend and my sweetie are off at college, so I’m not too terribly worried about not having time for fun. I’m also really big into extracurriculars these days. I’m the president of the Gay-Straight Student Alliance, and that takes up a lot more time than I expected.” 

“Gay-Straight Student Alliance?” Lexi repeated. She dropped her paper towel in the trash can. “Wish we had something like that at _my_ school.” 

“Where do you go?” I moved closer to the registers, knowing that this type of conversation wasn’t something everyone considered ‘appropriate.’ I really didn’t need a customer complaint because someone didn’t approve of my afterschool activities. 

“Stoneybrook Day,” she answered after she rang out the lady who’d entered the store a few minutes earlier. I don’t think there was even another customer in the store. “I wanted to go to the public school, but my parents wouldn’t even consider it.” 

Stoneybrook Day. That was where Bill and P went. “Hey, do you know P Papadakis and Bill Korman?” I asked her. “They’re seniors and sorta friends of mine.” I didn’t feel like I could really call them friends, despite the fact that I liked both boys and trusted them…more than the average boy. 

Lexi shook her head. “I’m just a sophomore and I don’t know most of the seniors. I do know a Melody Korman though. She’s nice.” 

“I think that’s Bill’s sister.” The closing manager claimed the customer service counter and, since I was no longer needed to watch it, I joined Lexi behind the registers. “You know what? You should come to some of our GSSA events. We have actual meetings before school in the mornings, and you have to be a member or prospective member and go to SHS to come to those. But we also have ‘unofficial’ afterschool get togethers. They’re not school sanctioned and our advisor doesn’t come to them. She said she couldn’t approve or condone ‘unofficial club activity,’ so…” Lexi was listening closely as she emptied the trash can. “It’s not a GSSA activity. It’s just a weird coincidence that nearly all the members show up at Pizza Express or someone’s house at the same time.” 

She laughed. “That sounds good, but my mom wouldn’t like me going to someone’s house if she didn’t know them. Maybe I could come for pizza sometime?” 

“Absolutely.” I started sorting all the credit card slips. “Hey, I’ve got a better idea. Would your mom let you go to SHS Friday night? A bunch of people from the GSSA are going to see _Guys and Dolls_ , starting at seven. If you wanted to go, I’d tell my VP to look out for you. Her name’s Savanna and she’s really super nice.” 

Lexi looked up from her task. “You won’t be there?” she asked. 

“No, I’ll be there,” I insisted. “I’ll just be on stage, singing.” 

She grinned. “Oh, I get it.” A couple of other employees came up, wearing their jackets, to gather the carts from the parking lot. Lexi waited for them to leave. “So,” she finally said in a really low voice, “Were your parents cool when you came out? Mine aren’t very open-minded, and they’re always kinda hateful to people who are different. I’m afraid to tell them about me.” 

I had my back to her, so she didn’t see my wide-eyed surprise. It definitely wasn’t the first time someone had assumed I was gay, but this was different. It was a logical leap on her part; hadn’t I just told her I was the president of a club for gay kids? Plus, she obviously needed someone to talk to. “Oh,” I said, fumbling around for words, “Well, considering my sweetie’s a guy, I didn’t really have problems with my parents.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lexi’s face fall. “But his brother—my best friend—was really worried about how his parents would take it when he came out. They ended up being really awesome and supportive, though.” 

She nodded, still downcast. “Look,” I said seriously. “You really should come on Friday, if you can. Savanna is going through all this right now—one of her older brothers calls her the ‘the little lesbo dyke.’ She’s really easy to talk to, too. I think you two would get along.” 

Lexi was a little teary eyed when I finally looked her face-on, but she pretended it wasn’t so. “Thanks. I’ll try to go.” 

*** 

There’s something really soothing about the chaos of dress rehearsals. Everyone’s running around, crazed, like they have no idea what they’re doing or where they’re supposed to be. But I know what _I’m_ supposed to be doing and where I’m supposed to be, so I’m able to let everyone be insane around me. It’s one of the few times in my life I actually feel like the least-crazy person in the room. 

Part of the reason for the chaos this Wednesday was that there was some issue with the lights. They’d been working on lighting during all of the rehearsals, on and off, but last week when they’d started synching them to the action on the stage, something was off. I had purposely not paid attention to the problem; I had enough issues of my own to worry about. The lighting techs for the crew were rushing about backstage, and the rest of us had to watch our toes so they didn’t get run over. 

Over the last month I had gotten to know, or reknow, most of the cast and crew. I was playing against Brandt Santoni’s Sky Masterson, and I’d learned a thing or two about Brandt. First, he still had a little crush on me; second, he was more than a little grabby during kissing scenes. He’d quickly learned something about me, too: he didn’t have to just watch his toes against the lighting techs. 

They’d given the role of Miss Adelaide to a girl named Rosie who used to act in commercials and stuff but had given all that up in an act of adolescent rebellion; she’d joked that appearing in the school play was an act of ‘anti-rebellion.’ And Nathan Detroit was played by an old friend of Matt’s, Jackie Rodowsky. They were both younger than me, but had good senses of humor and were fun to kid around with. Jackie, who had a reputation to maintain as a ‘world class klutz,’ didn’t even need someone’s toes to step on to go flying backstage. He left the toe-stepping to his brother Shea. 

Shea was the head of the lighting techs and my ex-boyfriend. He’d asked me out for the first time (for a soda after school) when we were ten; I’d just laughed. I hadn’t been interested in dating back then. He’d kept at it for well over a year, and I’d finally said yes for two reasons. First, I figured it would be the best way to get him to leave me alone, and second, I was actually kind of curious. I was a cheerleader by then, and the older girls would talk about their boyfriends and, more importantly, what they did together. I’d wanted to see what it was like to kiss a boy, and I figured Shea would be good for practice. 

I know how awful that sounds. I’m actually pretty embarrassed to admit it. It gets worse, too: I dated him on and off all through middle school, breaking up with him at whim—usually because someone else had asked me out, someone more interesting or dangerous or better looking. Yet every time that other guy didn’t work out, I went right back to Shea and he took me back, every time, just for me to trample all over him again. 

These days, Shea was in an internship program through the vocational school, training to be an electrician. He was average height but had a wrestler’s body, probably because he was the school’s wrestling champion. He didn’t date much and was one of those extremely quiet, mysterious guys that no one, not even his friends, really knows. I’d been trying to steer clear of him all through rehearsals. I figured I owed him that. 

We were having two dress rehearsals, one this Wednesday afternoon and the next during the day on Thursday, with the traditional elementary school audience. The guys were all onstage, with Brandt singing “Luck Be a Lady.” “Luck let a gentleman see,” Rosie sang as the two of us changed costumes. I was wearing a tan pair of bike shorts and tank top under my outfits, while Rosie—despite the fact that there were guys everywhere—had no problem stripping down to her bra and panties. 

“Oh, do stop singing along,” I begged as the wardrobe assistant hunted up the hat to my ‘army’ uniform. “I’m already going to have this song stuck in my head for the rest of time. I have a feeling I’ll get on stage tomorrow, and instead of _my_ songs, I’ll start singing ‘I know the way you’ve treated other guys you’ve been with!’” 

Rosie started giggling. “I hear ya,” she said, but it didn’t stop her from humming under her breath. 

When the show was over, Mr. Dentino called us all over and gave us a few notes on what he wanted improved for the next show, with an actual audience. The cast and crew scattered, cleaning things up, taking off makeup, and putting the scenery in place for act 1, scene 1 for tomorrow. “Hey,” Jackie called as people scurried around, “My mom said that anyone who wants to come over after rehearsal today is welcome. We’re ordering pizza and hoagies. Everyone’s invited.” 

Rosie was sitting next to me in front of the mirror. “Are you going, Haley?” she asked, bumping my shoulder like we were old friends. 

I shrugged. In the mirror I caught Shea lugging around a coil of cable of some variety, but I looked away when he noticed my attention. “No, I got a huge project due on Monday for physics and I figured I might as well get started on it tonight. How about you?” 

I caught her looking at someone in the mirror, too: one of the guys playing a minor gangster. “I think I will, at least for a little while.” 

I waggled my eyebrows at her. “Go get ‘im, tiger,” I told her with a giggle. 

“Betcha bottom dollar,” she replied as she walked away. 

There was one other person among the stage crew I had been avoiding. Like Shea, she was a quiet person with whom I’d been close back in middle school. Diane was someone who, like Lexi from work, was shy until you got to know her. People (mostly other cheerleaders) had asked me why we were such good friends. Once you got past the exteriors, though—mine outgoing and trendy, hers introverted and more subtle—we had the same sense of humor and big dreams. 

I hadn’t been avoiding Diane because of anything she’d done, or even anything I’d done. It was more the fact that saying—or hearing—her last name made me want to throw up. I was really trying not to hold her brother’s actions against Diane, but maybe I wasn’t that good at it. I decided to give it another shot. “Hey Diane,” I asked as she whizzed by with some props for the Havana scenes, “Are you going to the Rodowskys’ for pizza?” 

She stopped in her tracks, as if stunned I’d actually spoken to her. I was more stunned that I’d managed to say that without my voice giving out. Diane shook her head. She never had been one for big crowds; her idea of a good evening, at least back when we were friends, was curling up with a book or maybe hanging out with one good friend. “Well, you are going to come to the cast party on Sunday, right? Everyone’s going to be there. You should at least stop in for a little while.” 

Diane nodded. “Yeah, I might do that,” she said, her voice faint. She was avoiding making eye contact with me, and I wasn’t sure if she was mad at me for the self-imposed exile I’d been in for years. It had pretty well killed our friendship. 

I forced myself to smile at her. “Good! Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” I said the last part all in a rush. I honestly felt like if I didn’t say it quickly, I might not get it out at all. 

I rushed out of the auditorium, with my backpack over my shoulder, fighting the dry heaves the entire way home. (Something in my car had started making a knocking sound, so my dad had taken it to his favorite mechanic, who was reliable but slow. I’d probably get the car back after spring break at this rate.) I just couldn’t understand why the mere sight of Diane, who had been a good friend for a couple of years, made me think instantly of her brother. I didn’t want to blame Diane for Dominic’s faults any more than I would want others to blame me for Matt’s. Yet every time I saw Diane, her brother’s face appeared in place of hers. It was not a pretty scenario and it was wrenching my stomach up the way the nerves of performing had the year before. 

At least the play was almost over. If I couldn’t cure my problem by forcing myself to confront it, it was going to go away soon enough. 

*** 

The ‘real’ dress rehearsal the next day went even better. Except for one lighting snafu and a dancing mishap on my part, everything ran smoothly. Mr. Dentino didn’t even have any notes for us. “Go home,” he urged everyone. “Don’t rehearse; don’t run through blocking or scene set up or anything. Just have a calm, relaxing evening and get a good night’s sleep. I’ll see you all here tomorrow evening.” 

We’d all applauded and scattered, same as the night before. . I had a run in one of my stockings and Rosie was concerned about her ‘mink’ stole, so we decided to hunt down the wardrobe assistant together. The three of us wound up chatting, and by the time Rosie and I finally sat down to take off our makeup, we were just about the only actors left. Jackie was still there, messing around with his gangster hat, waiting for the lighting techs to be finished, but everyone else was gone. 

A lot of the stage crew was still there, cleaning and setting everything up for the first scene. Every prop had a home, organized by scene, but somehow, nothing ever made it back into its perfectly arranged spot after the scene ended. I ended up pitching in, sorting costume pieces, and by the time I finished, backstage was emptying out. I could see one of the spotlights still moving around a little, while a last few props were still sitting all over the floor. Diane was sorting them silently, almost robotically, with no expression on her face. 

Jackie was still playing with his hat. “Either of you ladies need a ride?” he asked. 

I looked around; only Diane and I were in the area. “No thanks,” I said slowly, trying not to sound too unenthusiastic about the idea. Jackie was only fifteen; if he was offering a ride home, he definitely wasn’t doing the driving. I didn’t want to sit awkwardly in the back seat of Shea’s 1980-something Oldsmobile, listening to the sounds of Shea’s silence and Jackie’s mindless chatter. “It’s beautiful outside today. I’ll walk.” 

Jackie nodded and turned to Diane. “My ride’s coming,” she said. She wore her watch on her right wrist with the face turned towards the inside; that’s something that hadn’t changed in all the years I’d known her. At this moment she flipped her wrist up to check the time. “He’s just running late, as always.” 

“I’ll wait with you until your ride comes,” I offered. Diane was clearly surprised and frankly, so was I. I’d weighed the options: finally dealing with Shea and apologizing for something that I regretted, or staying or repairing my relationship with Diane, which had floundered for reasons that were neither of our faults. I’d decided to be a little wussy and not try to deal with admitting my faults. 

I just wasn’t up to that. Not yet. 

Diane finally smiled. “That sounds good. Hopefully, he’ll be here any minute, anyway.” 

I joined her on the floor as Jackie wandered off and I picked up a drinking glass. “Is this the one I drink out of in the club in Havana?” I asked. Focusing on the task in front of me felt a little chicken, but I figured it was the best way to break the ice. 

Diane took it out of my hand and spun it around. “Yeah, I think so,” she said, putting it in the correct bin. She then looked up at me expectantly, as if she knew I had an ulterior motive for helping out. 

I was just about to spill the beans a little bit, maybe apologize for not being quite as friendly as I should have been for almost four years now. But before any words could come out, someone else spoke. “Diane?” a voice boomed from around the corner. A masculine figure appeared from the shadows. “It’s time to go. Get a move on.” 

That voice. I was kneeling over the last couple unsorted doo-dads and a chill ran through my entire body. I’d heard that cliché before, but I’d never believed it until that very moment, when it happened. I stood up, slowly, not wanting to look at him but also not wanting to turn my back on him. “I’m almost finished here,” Diane said, even though she’d just been griping that he was late a minute before. “I just need another moment.” She didn’t seem to notice my instant change in mood. 

Dominic came into the light and I forced myself to look at him. He was just as I remembered him: gelled-up James Dean hair, black jeans, plain t-shirt under a gray hoodie. He even smelled exactly the same, like aftershave and chewing tobacco. The man hadn’t changed in nearly four years, except for one thing: I remembered him being a lot bigger. In my nightmares, he always seemed to loom large, be a giant. He was barely taller than Jordan was. “Who is this?” Dominic asked, noticing me for the first time. “A friend of yours, Diane?” 

Diane shoved the last prop back into place. “Used to be,” she mumbled under her breath. I don’t think Dominic and I were supposed to hear her. 

He walked in between the two of us, and I took a step back towards the wall. My whole body was shaking so badly that I was afraid my knees would give out. The two of us hadn’t been in the same place since that night in the backseat of his car. What I wouldn’t give to go back in time to when he asked me out on that date so I could turn him down. “I feel like we’ve met before,” Dominic said to me. He was using that same seductive, charming voice he’d used when he’d first flirted with me outside of Diane’s bedroom. 

I was back to wanting to vomit. “We have,” I said, barely a whisper, but he caught it anyway. 

Dominic paused and gave me a once over. “Oh, right,” he said, as I became more than just a vague recollection of a familiar face. “You’ve grown up a little since then,” he added, and suddenly, the way he was looking at me hit me like assault and battery. “You’ve added some curves in just the right places.” 

Diane was standing pretty much behind Dominic at this point, and I saw a change in her expression. She was now aggressively angry, fists balled up, brow deeply furrowed. I was barely looking at her—if my body wasn’t so shaky, I probably would have run by then—so I couldn’t tell if she was upset with me or her brother. “What’s going on over here?” she demanded, rushing the words. 

I was more than a little afraid of how Dominic might answer that, but he ignored the question. He’d noticed that the only thing keeping me from fainting was sheer will. He took another step toward me. “Hey, what’s a matter with you?” he asked, as if he shouldn’t cause this type of reaction in me. 

I tried to take another step back, but my feet wouldn’t move. It was probably for the best, because I really didn’t want him backing me against a wall. “Don’t come any closer,” I warned him, wishing I carried pepper spray or just something I could throw at him. 

“What’s all this fuss?” Dominic said. He had turned the ‘charm’ up to a 9 out of 10. The only time I’d heard him be more persuasive was when he’d tried to convince me to get into the backseat of his car with him. And let’s face it: he hadn’t needed to be; I had, at the time, _wanted_ to get in with him. “We had a good time, didn’t we?” 

Diane was aghast. Prior to this, she hadn’t known that I’d gone out with her brother. Or that I’d used her as my alibi when my parents wanted to know where I was going. Or that I sometimes accepted an invitation to her house on the off chance that I would get a glimpse of him. “Oh, my Lord,” she said as the meaning of everything hit her. I didn’t know how much she’d worked out from his glib little statement, but she still sounded upset and I wasn’t sure if it was with me for keeping this a secret, or with her brother for wanting to go out with her friends in the first place. 

To be honest, while this was all going on, I barely heard her. It was as if Dominic had found my insanity button—and jammed it. “A good time?” I asked, a little loud considering that the three of us weren’t alone backstage. Before Dominic had arrived, there had still been voices up among the lights. “A good time,” I repeated, and this time I was definitely shouting. I took a step toward him, with four years of pent up rage and guilt and frustration and every other emotion straining at the edge of my mouth, waiting to come out. He took two steps backward, not sure what I had in mind for him. “You raped me!” I screamed. “You held me down and covered my mouth as I screamed for you to stop. You call that a good time?” 

Diane made a little non-verbal shriek. “You’ve got it all wrong,” Dominic said smoothly. “I get it; you’re mad at me for not calling you afterwards. But that’s no reason to go around misremembering the circumstances.” 

I was surprised I hadn’t cried yet. I guess I just didn’t have any tears to waste over this asshole anymore. “I’m definitely remembering right,” I said, quieter and more in control now. “I’ve been reliving it for the last four years.” 

Dominic was starting to get a bit flustered. He had a hot-headed woman on either side of him and neither one of us looked ready to back down. “Look, um,” he said, less charming and more desperate, and I realized something. He had no idea what my name was. He’d played front and center in my worst nightmares for years, but I was just a blip in his past. I wasn’t his first anything—hell, I may not have been the first girl that he’d raped. Why had I let him have all this power over me, enough that I couldn’t forget his name or face? 

I put my head in my hands for a second, before he could attempt to justify his actions. “Just get out of here.” 

“No. You’re going to hear me out.” 

“Excuse me.” A quiet but firm voice spoke up from the other side of the dressing room. “The lady asked you to leave. She’s asked you nicely, and now I’m asking you nicely. And if you still won’t go, well, I’ll just have to throw you out.” The muscular figure loomed in the doorway the way Dominic had when he first arrived, and for dramatic effect, he cracked his knuckles. 

Dominic made a quick assessment of the newcomer, who was an inch taller and probably had fifty pounds of muscle on him. “Come on, Diane,” he said, not looking at his sister, “Let’s go home.” 

Diane stood her ground. “I’m not going anywhere with you!” she spat. 

Dominic took a step toward her, but before he could speak again, my muscle-bound savior cleared his throat. “Now both of the ladies have spoken. Do I need to help you find the exit?” Dominic didn’t need the help. He stalked off the other direction, leaving Diane and me alone with our hero. “Are you two okay?” he asked. 

I was still shaking, but I found my way to a chair. “I’m alright,” I insisted. “Thank you so much for your help, Shea.” 

Shea stepped out of the darkness. “Anytime,” he answered, even more quietly than he’d spoken before. He’d always been a man of few words and I had the feeling that it had taken a lot for him to speak up to Dominic that way. “Why don’t you two get your stuff and I’ll give you both a ride home? I really don’t think either of you should be walking after this.” 

Neither Diane nor I said anything, and Shea took that for a yes. He went outside to grab his car and pull it up to the auditorium door, but not before he told a couple of his friends to watch out in case Dominic decided to come back. The two other lighting techs nodded glumly, craning their necks to get a look at me, and I realized that everyone in the vicinity—and there were more people still backstage than I’d thought—had heard me screaming. I was still in the chair and I leaned against the back, afraid of falling off. I put my head in my hands, not wanting to see everyone else looking at me. “Haley…” Diane began, her voice verging on hysterical. 

I didn’t look up. “No,” I cut her off sharply. “I can’t right now. I just can’t.” 

I heard Diane have a seat on the floor near me and felt her lean against the chair. I started to feel dizzy and nauseous as the chair vibrated. I took a deep breath and realized it wasn’t an earthquake—we didn’t really get those in Connecticut—but Diane that was making the chair shake. She was sobbing silently, gulping air, and I realized that the past few minutes had been just as hard on her as they had been on me. I got off the chair and slid down to the floor, mostly because I was afraid I’d fall off or throw up. But once I found myself beside Diane, I knew what I needed to do. I wrapped my arms around her and the two of us sat there silently until Shea came back. He shouted for Jackie, who grabbed everyone’s bags, and the four of us went out to Shea’s old beater without speaking further. 

That changed once we got inside, though. Shea gunned it out of the parking lot, checking to make sure Dominic wasn’t following, then slowed to a more appropriate pace, and Diane—who was still wailing—started talking in between sobs. “I’m sorry, Haley,” she said. Tears were running down her face and she had snot dripping from her nose as she sat behind Shea in the rear driver’s seat. Jackie was beside her, but he didn’t seem to know what to do, so he was ‘playing lookout,’ watching out the rear window. I dug around in my backpack and found a ratty old package of tissues and handed her one. Diane didn’t use it, just balled it up in her fist. “I should have known. I should have turned him in. I should have…” 

I interrupted her. I was still shaky, but I was a lot calmer than she was. “How were you supposed to know I was sneaking around with your brother behind your back?” I asked her. “And how were you supposed to know what he did to me? None of this was your fault.” 

She didn’t appear to believe me. “I knew you were going out with him,” she told me. “I’m not stupid. I just never believed that he would have done that…” 

“Yeah,” I said quietly. Shea looked over from the driver’s seat briefly as we stopped at a stop sign. “I didn’t believe it either or I would have never gotten in the car with him.” 

Diane lived the farthest away from school and Shea dropped her off first. “Are you going to be okay?” I asked. I still had the jitters myself, but Diane was a complete wreck. Had she been wearing makeup, it would have been all over her face. I pulled out another tissue and this time she used it. 

“No,” Diane said as she pulled her bag up over her shoulder. “But I’ll survive anyway. See you guys tomorrow for the show.” She ran to the house, crossing to the backyard to enter through the back door, same as she always had. Shea watched her disappear behind the fence before he put the car in reverse and backed out of her driveway. 

Instead of turning toward my house to drop me off, Shea drove a couple streets over and took the back route to his own home. Jackie, who hadn’t been buckled in once during the ride, kept talking about opening night in a nervous, high-pitched voice. When we got to the Rodowskys, he leaned between the front seats. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Are you coming in, Haley?” 

I shook my head, but I didn’t get a chance to speak. “I’m going to take Haley home now,” Shea told Jackie. It was the first time he’d spoken since we’d gotten in the car. “Let Mom know I’ll be home within half an hour, okay?” 

I wanted to protest and argue with him. I didn’t have the strength of spirit to have any type of deep conversation at this moment, but then again, I didn’t have the energy to walk home either. Shea waited until we were back on the street before he spoke, and it wasn’t exactly what I was expecting. “I let Jackie out because otherwise, he would have bent our ears the entire way back to your house. And I don’t think either of us is in the mood for that.” 

The rest of the ride was somber and almost depressing. I watched the familiar scenery go by as Shea drove back to my house. He put the car in park and watched me take much longer to gather up my things than I needed. “Shea,” I finally said, and he looked away from the windshield for the first time since Jackie got out of the car. “I’m sorry for how things went down with the two of us.” 

Shea crinkled his brow, his face as expressionless as it had been all afternoon. “What are you talking about?” he asked. “We grew apart. It happens.” 

I was still sitting in his seat, but I turned to face him, tucking my legs underneath me and throwing my backpack over one shoulder. “I’m not talking about our final breakup,” I insisted. We hadn’t really had a breakup; he’d gone off to camp for the whole summer and by the time he’d come back, I’d already had my rendezvous with Dominic and just couldn’t deal with Shea. “I mean the way I would break up with you every four weeks so that I could flirt with someone taller, or cuter, or just different. I treated you like shit.” 

Finally, I saw his expression change. Shea looked down to the floor, downcast. He didn’t speak and I thought maybe I’d hurt his feelings. I reached out one hand and touched his t-shirt at the hem of the sleeve. Shea didn’t look the same as he had when I’d dated him—he’d been a lot less muscular and a lot skinnier back then. A lot sloppier, too, in his dress and deportment. Still, he was the same person, sweet and quiet and nice. He’d played a big part in helping me figure out what I was looking for in a guy, and it wasn’t the big stud I’d thought I’d wanted when I was twelve or thirteen. Sure, Jordan had that kind of a reputation, but it was in his past, same as my reputation as a flirty bitch. I wasn’t dating Jordan the baseball star; I was dating Jordan, who loved his mom and wanted to wait until he was sure before he had sex. 

Shea felt the touch on his sleeve and looked up. “I never thought of it that way,” he said finally. “I always thought…” he drifted off and I removed my hand, putting it in my lap and squeezing my other hand with it. Shea’s expression lightened and he started his statement over again. “You always came back. I never saw it as you leaving. I saw it as I was the one that you came back to.” 

I looked over at him cautiously. Back when we had been a couple, I’d been the lively, outgoing one, and Shea was my quiet, almost antisocial other half. Who would have guessed he’d have more self-esteem than I did? I’d spent my whole teen years, especially after the rape, not knowing who I was, questioning every life choice I’d ever made. And here was Shea, so certain about himself. Actually, thinking about it, it wasn’t just that I didn’t know who I was while he did. It’s more that he was so positive while I only saw the negative. 

I looked away because tears were starting to sting my eyes. I’d made it through confronting Dominic and even Diane’s emotional rambling, without crying. So why was sitting here with Shea getting to me? “I hate to ask this,” Shea went on, “but that whole thing with Diane’s brother? That happened right before high school, didn’t it?” He didn’t wait for my answer, because he _knew_. “There was this complete change in you for a while. You stopped smiling. You stopped enjoying life. That’s what I’d always liked best about you when we were together—no matter what you were doing, you seemed to be having more fun than anyone else.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” I mumbled as I steeled myself. I really didn’t want to have a complete emotional breakdown in the front seat of Shea’s car. 

He cocked his head to one side and took me in. “Yeah, maybe,” he agreed. “Maybe you’ve just been an actress for longer than I thought.” I brought my hands up to my face, breathing hard. Shea softened a little. “I’m not saying that as an insult, but it’s true, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” I admitted. It was completely true. I’d spent a lot of time acting—or lying, whatever you wanted to call it. I’d lied to Shea, to the whole school, and mostly to myself. I’d spent a lot of time making excuses instead of owning up to my mistakes. And that’s what made me really cry at that moment. I sobbed as hard as Diane had, into my hands and eventually, my shoulder. But I only cried for a minute or so before I fished out the last tissue from the package and wiped my own eyes. “Even if you didn’t take offense to the way I treated you in middle school,” I finally asserted, “ _I_ take offense to it. You were—still are—a great guy, Shea. I don’t know why you don’t have girls lining up to go out with you.” 

“I could, I think, if that’s what I wanted.” Shea smiled for the first time. “I don’t want that line of girls. Flirting takes too much effort. Going to parties, ‘being seen’—not really my thing.” 

I gave him a half-hearted half smile. “Yeah, me neither, these days. But that’s what’s so great about being with Jordan—it’s not really his thing, either.” I shifted my feet back in front of me. “We still find plenty to do, and I enjoy dating a lot more now that I no longer consider it a spectator sport.” 

“A spectator sport!” he repeated, sounding amazed. “That’s exactly what it was like with you. We were always out with a crew of your friends.” 

Even after all this time, it was still easy to talk to Shea. He was not judgmental when discussing about what I considered the lowest point of my life (so far, of course). In fact, he seemed to be reminiscing, even when mentioning negatives. “You know, I gotta tell you,” I said, “One thing I don’t regret is that you were my first.” He crinkled up laugh lines around his eyes. “First kiss, I mean!” I blurted out just as he started to grin. 

“First date,” he added after a moment and a slight chuckle. 

“First boyfriend.” 

“First dance.” 

“It really is good talking to you again, Shea,” I said. 

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Jordan’s one lucky guy.” 

Even though it was exactly the opposite of my normal instinct, I leaned across the seat and impulsively gave Shea a hug, which he returned by gingerly patting me on one shoulder. “Thanks so much for everything,” I whispered as I let him go. “Not just getting rid of Dominic, or giving me a ride home, but for always being you.” 

Shea shrugged. “I don’t know any other way to be,” he said modestly. “See you tomorrow at school.” 

I waved to him as I ran to my front door. I was fumbling with my key when the door swung open. Mom stood in the doorway watching as Shea tootled his horn and backed out of the driveway. She squinted at the retreating Oldsmobile. “Was that _Shea_?” she asked in shock. I nodded, distracted, and attempted to brush by her. “Haley, have you been crying?” she continued, putting a hand on my shoulder. 

I stopped and had an internal debate. I knew what I needed to do, but was I really ready for it? I continued past Mom and, for the second time that afternoon, collapsed into a chair. She followed me and leaned on the table in front of me. “What’s wrong?” she demanded. 

“I’ve had a bad day.” I let my bag fall with a crash to the floor. “Mom, can I tell you something? And not have you make any judgments on me?” 

“Of, course, sweetie,” she soothed. She sat down in the chair next to me and pulled up close, so as to give the appearance of secrecy between us. I don’t know why she bothered; Matt was playing soccer like he did every Thursday and Daddy wouldn’t be home for at least two hours. “You can tell me absolutely anything.” 

I nodded. I knew I could tell her about what had happened today and four years ago without repercussions. I’d never told her about Dominic in the first place because a) I was afraid I’d get grounded and b) I’d been so embarrassed. At first, I hadn’t thought of what had happened as a _rape_ and I’d considered it my fault. That had lasted all of a week, but it was long enough for me to get into that fight with Vanessa. I’d lost my best friend, my self-respect, and so much more. I didn’t want to lose my parents’ faith and trust in me as well. I was past that now, and maybe it would be better if I just told Mom the truth. 

But then I realized that she was going to freak out about my situation and I wasn’t ready for that, at least not today. “I want to see a therapist,” I blurted out before I could think any further. I actually surprised myself with the statement, but now that I’d said it, I realized it was probably the best solution. Someone who had to listen without judging and then try to fix me? Exactly what I needed. 

Mom leaned back in her chair. “Okay,” she agreed, although I could see she was confused. She pushed herself away from the table and moved to a counter, facing the wall. “Okay,” she repeated. “I’ll look into it, see if I can find someone suitable and try to schedule something.” 

“I’ve already got a name,” I told her. I dug in my memory, trying to remember the name of Jeff’s therapist. He’d sung her praises on a regular basis and said she was extremely easy to talk to. “Her name is Victoria Bellen, and her office is just outside of Stamford.” 

“Well, great!” Mom said, but while I might be an actress, my mother definitely is not. She was trying to sound enthusiastic, but her body language gave her away. Worried would be a better word, and could you blame her? I’d come home, still shaking with rage, tears streaked on my face, and asked her to take me to a therapist. That’s not exactly what any mother would hope for her daughter. “I’ll try to get something set up for after you get back from spring break.” 

“No,” I insisted, and Mom looked back to me. “If it’s possible, I’d like an appointment for next week—before I go to Florida.” 

Mom’s shoulders slumped even more. “Okay, hon,” she sighed. “I’ll go hunt down her phone number in a moment, but first, I think you need a little mom-style TLC. I’m going to make you some soup and tea. Then you can take a bath, and I’ll come up and rub your back before you go to sleep. Okay?” 

It was four-thirty in the afternoon, but I had a feeling I’d be ready for bed before too long anyway. My eyelids were already heavy and a long night’s sleep sounded perfect. “Okay, Mom,” I echoed her words from earlier. “Thanks.” 

*** 

I didn’t even wind up taking that bath. I ate some chicken soup from a can and drank hot tea. When Mom came in my room to let me know the bathtub was full, she found me already under the covers. She’d rubbed my back for a moment, tucked me in and turned out the light. I was only half asleep and could still hear the action going on around me. I heard Mom calling Victoria Bellen’s office and setting up an appointment for Monday. For a couple hours, I drifted in and out of sleep. I heard my parents’ muffled voices from their bedroom, the words ‘shaking like a leaf’ making it clear they were talking about me. When I awoke again, the phone was ringing. I heard Daddy tell Jordan that I wasn’t feeling well and would call him back later, which I actually did shortly after midnight. 

By then, everyone else was asleep and the house was spooky quiet. I awoke from a nightmare I couldn’t remember and knew there was no way I could go back to sleep for a while. I stopped in the bathroom and caught sight of myself. My face was puffy and red and I could actually see tracks where the tears had stung my face earlier that day. I washed my face, but I don’t know why I bothered. Now it was freshly-scrubbed pink and stained with tears all over again. I was still wearing my school clothes, but I shed them in favor of Jordan’s old t-shirt and a pair of men’s boxers I had been given years before and never worn. I walked barefoot down the stairs and found my cell phone in my backpack, which someone had hung in its usual spot by the back door. The phone was set on silent, and I saw two missed calls, both from Jordan. I hurriedly called him back. 

Dave answered the phone. “Have any idea what time it is?” he grumbled. It was obviously a rhetorical question, but when I just answered with a sniffle and a stifled sob, his tone changed. “Here’s Jordan,” Dave said quickly. 

I heard him shake Jordan awake and speak to him with the phone muffled by his hand. Jordan was groggy and he spoke slowly. “Haley?” he asked, as if anyone else would be calling him so late at night. “What’s wrong?” 

“Remember when you promised I could call you up and cry, without you asking any questions?” 

“Of course,” he soothed, immediately knowing something was seriously wrong. “Let me take the phone outside so Dave can study in peace.” 

Jordan was good to his word. I took the phone in the basement and he took his to the stairwell. I cried harder than I could ever remember crying before, until I gave myself hiccups. I’m pretty sure he didn’t hear much before that. By always says the only thing quieter than my crying is my laughing. “Feel better?” he asked when my breathing began to return to normal, bar the hiccups. 

“A little,” I whispered. “This has probably been the second worst day of my life, and I just want it to be over.” 

“Second worst, huh?” Jordan was speaking in a light, gentle voice. He wasn’t trying to make light of what I was saying, just not make anything worse. “That’s pretty awful.” 

“But it’s about right. _He_ showed up at the dress rehearsal today.” 

“He?” he repeated. “Catch me up here, honey. He who?” 

“Him, Jordan.” I finally got a handle on the hiccups, but my stomach still hurt. I curled up on the couch, thinking of all the times Jordan and I had laid there together, our arms wrapped around each other. “Dominic.” 

“Dominic?” Jordan was still befuddled and that’s when I realized that I’d never told him the whole story of what had happened. He hadn’t asked, not wanting to pry, and I hadn’t wanted to go into it. 

“He was the guy who…” I began. Why was this so hard to say, after everything I’d been through today? “The one who raped me,” I finally admitted. 

Jordan’s voice hardened. “Dominic?” he repeated, and I could tell he was searching his memory for anyone with that name. “Oh, yeah. I know who that is. I ate lunch with him sophomore year of high school. He’s the guy?” There was a slight pause and then he sounded angry and guilty at the same time. “I wish I’d known back then. I would have beaten the crap out of him for you. I still can, you know. I wonder which would be cheaper: flying back to Connecticut for the weekend, or hiring a hit man.” 

“Jordan!” I exclaimed. If we were talking about anything else, I probably would have laughed. But he’d sounded so deadly serious that I was actually a little concerned he might be on the next plane out. “Don’t even joke about that.” 

“Who’s joking?” he growled. “I sat with the guy nearly all year long. I listened to him brag about all the girls he’d bagged, never knowing how he was going about ‘bagging’ them. Smug, arrogant bastard.” 

“I appreciate the sentiment, but he’s really not worth the energy.” 

“Maybe not,” he conceded, “but you are.” I wrapped my arms around my knees, imagining hugging him instead of myself. “What bothers me—beside the obvious—is that I idolized those guys. Dominic and his friends, I mean. They were so popular and everyone knew their names. I wanted to be like them. I wanted to _be_ them.” 

I saw what he was saying. He was afraid that somehow, his youthful desire to be just like someone who turned out to be a rapist meant that he was just as bad. “Well, when I was a kid, I wanted to be one of the Spice Girls. What does that say about me?” 

He thought about it for moment. “You had really bad taste in music?” he guessed. “It really isn’t even close to the same thing, though. You enjoyed some flashy, trashy music. I enjoyed listening to stories about sleazy sex from a total jerkoff.” 

Who would have thought that trying to convince Jordan that he wasn’t a sleazy jerkoff himself would have made me actually feel better? “Here’s the litmus test, Jordan,” I finally instructed. “You feel guilty about worshipping Dominic, while he tried to convince me that I _liked_ being raped.” 

I’d never heard Jordan so angry before. Unlike Byron, who stuffs in his anger until he snaps and goes off, Jordan—when he’s truly upset and not just cranky—goes quiet and authoritative. “I feel sick,” he spat. “I can’t even imagine—” 

“No, you can’t,” I insisted, “because you aren’t Dominic. Even if he was your hero at one point in your life, you aren’t him and you could never be him.” 

He sighed. “Yeah,” he said, but it was more of a ‘let’s change the topic,’ than a ‘you are correct.’ “Why are we even worrying about this? How I’m feeling right now isn’t at all important. What do you need from me now?” 

“I just wanted you to listen. There’s not really anything else either of us can do anyway.” Jordan yawned but tried to cover it up. I looked at the clock; he had to be up in four hours for practice. “I couldn’t sleep when I called you, but I think I can now. Why don’t I let you get back to bed?” 

“You sure you’ll be able to sleep?” 

I wasn’t, but I was sure that if I didn’t manage to go back to sleep, I’d survive it. “Positive.” 

I could hear him moving around, returning from the stairwell to the hallway. “Okay, I will try to get some more sleep too. But I’m telling you right now, if he comes anywhere near you again, I’m looking into that hit man.” 

For the first time since Dominic showed up that afternoon, I smiled. “You gotta do what you gotta do.” 

*** 

The second time I woke up from a nightmare, I managed to go back to sleep without getting back up. The third time, I gave up on sleep and traipsed back down to the basement. I put the Marx Brothers in the DVD player and turned the volume down low. I don’t remember falling asleep again, but it was light outside when my mother came to shake me awake. “Haley, sweetie,” she said gently. “You need to get moving or you’ll be late for school. I made you some pancakes and packed you a lunch, and if you hurry, I’ll give you a ride to school.” 

I rubbed my eyes. Just the thought of eating pancakes was making me nauseous. “Maybe I should just have a granola bar and orange juice to go,” I mumbled groggily. 

“Whatever you want,” Mom said. She rubbed my back one more time, then patted it. “C’mon, kiddo,” she continued, and she helped me up. I took a super-fast shower, threw on some eye-liner and mascara—not green or blue or purple like I used to wear, but a plain, generic chocolate brown—and got dressed in my most comfortable jeans and favorite plaid shirt. I had left everything I needed for school, including my unfinished homework, in my backpack, so I rushed down the stairs. Running into school at the last minute meant not having to see anyone I didn’t want to talk to—which was just about everyone at that moment. I finished my trig homework in homeroom and the rest of my assignments in study hall. 

The hardest part of that school day, though, was the fact that it felt like everyone was staring at me. I know that part of that was my imagination, but not all of it. The only thing that travels faster than the speed of light is gossip in a high school. At lunch, Becca chattered on about spring break and the camping trip my friends were planning. She either didn’t see all the people looking at us or wasn’t concerned. I think I ate two bites of the chicken wrap my mother had packed me, and I didn’t even touch the celery sticks or Fig Newtons. “Not hungry?” she asked. “Must be nerves,” she sympathized when I nodded. 

I shook my head. “No,” I said, fiddling with a couple pieces of celery. She looked up from her pathetic excuse for lasagna, concerned. “You wouldn’t be able to eat either if you’d been through what I had the last twenty-four hours.” 

Becca put down her fork and leaned over, watching me critically. “You didn’t sleep last night, either.” 

“Nope. Not really.” 

Becca was now the one fidgeting. She knew something was up, but the fact that I wasn’t forthcoming was making her uncomfortable. “Problems at home?” she asked. She was one of the few people who knew how hard it had been on me when my parents were fighting or when they’d split up. 

I took a bite of celery but ended up spitting it back into a napkin. “No. I’m having problems with the real world. I’m ready to go find a rock to hide under.” 

She raised her eyebrows. “That bad? I’m really sorry.” 

I put my head down on my arms, ignoring the rest of my food. No point in shoveling it down; I already had the feeling that I’d be in the bathroom throwing up in an hour anyway. “Yeah, so am I.” 

*** 

There was just one more awkward conversation waiting between me and the stage that night. I arrived backstage for the show early, wanting to get dressed and do my makeup alone and in peace. It was quiet and dark as I rouged up my cheeks and overdid my eyelids. The stage crew and lighting techs and everyone else started to arrive, so I took my copy of _Cry the Beloved Country_ into the corner and tried to read, although I was still looking at the same page fifteen minutes later when I heard someone sit down next to me. “Reading for class or for fun?” Diane asked. 

“AP English,” I answered, closing the book. “This is a little drier and more ponderous than I prefer my books.” 

“I seem to recall you weren’t much of a reader.” Diane, like the other people who were supposed to remain hidden during the show, was dressed all in black. Her short, dark hair was even held back with a black headband. 

“I didn’t used to be,” I admitted. I could remember her jokingly chastising me for not reading various books she thought I would love. “But when you start shutting out the whole world, your entertainment options become limited.” 

Diane turned away and spoke while looking everywhere but at me. “And you did that because of my brother,” she surmised. 

“Partly,” I told the air. It was a lot easier to talk about difficult things when you pretended you were talking to yourself, so maybe Diane had the right idea. “But I make my own decisions, Diane. I decided to go out with your brother. I decided to quit talking to be people and make friends with the library afterward. I decided to trample other people’s feelings and then be a giant wuss about making amends.” 

Diane listened to that whole tirade with no change in expression. “There are two sides to everything,” she said slowly. “You might have gone into hiding, but everyone else let you go. I was mad at you for going out with my brother and for not telling me about it, but I could have just as easily confronted you about it.” She sighed. “Honestly, at this point, maybe we should just forgive and forget? Not what happened, but what role we each did—or didn’t—play in the whole mess.” 

I looked at her for more than a second for the first time since she’d sat down. “You’ve be willing to do that?” I asked. 

“Why not?” she said. “Neither one of us is to blame for what happened. Maybe both of us could have handled things better, but we were fourteen. No one expected us to be perfect…except maybe us.” 

What could I say to that? I looked over at Diane and she made eye contact with me for the first time since she’d sat down. Her big brown eyes were full of expression and questions. She was waiting for me to make the next move, and I knew I had to do something. I thought for a moment. “Did you ever read this book?” I finally asked. “It’s really not that bad, even if it’s not something I would have chosen for myself. 

Diane smiled and leaned over to look at the paperback with me. The two of us were still sitting there, shoulder to shoulder, when Mr. Dentino called everyone to huddle up.


	2. Sleeping Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I finally make it to Florida and Jordan and I share some secrets...and try to share a mattress.

To: braddockfamily4  
From: je11y_6ean_h  
Subject: Hi, Mom!  
Greetings from Florida! Before you ask, yes, the sun is shining and it is very warm outside. Also, I am wearing sunscreen every day and covering every inch of my skin in aluminum foil to fend cancer-inducing UVA and UVB rays off. Just kidding about the last part.  
Jordan’s friends are all really nice and the campus is cool. I can tell I’m going to love college. I’m so ready to go! I know you and Daddy aren’t ready for me to leave yet and if you could, you’d turn the clock back to when I was a toddler and start all over again. Are you sure you’d want to do that? If I remember correctly, I used to bite.  
I’ll keep in touch. Email me back. No need to call, right?  
Haley

I don’t know what prompted me to start packing my suitcase for Florida almost the second _Guys and Dolls_ closed. I think it was just plain old-fashioned excitement, coupled with the fact that being away from home meant being away from the gossip and stares and my mother’s constant worried looks. The Thursday before break actually started, I had to start packing all over. I’d ended up taking just about everything out of my bag because I’d needed to use it over the past week. 

Charlotte had joined me for the afternoon. Vanessa was at work and Becca was at the orthodontist, a location she’d snarkily dubbed ‘The Happiest Place on Earth.’ I usually worked Thursdays myself, but a coworker had asked me to switch for Wednesday and I’d said no problem. Charlotte had had no plans and I’d asked her if she wanted to hang out with me. Even though things had been better between us, I’d been surprised when she’d said yes. 

“What kind of pajamas are you packing?” she asked me as she sat at my desk. I’d pulled all my makeup off my dresser and set it in front of my computer keyboard and she was going through my 300 eyeliner pencils. 

“I haven’t decided yet,” I answered as I counted the pairs of jeans I’d packed. I had a pair I was planning to wear both Friday and Saturday, so I could safely put the rest in the suitcase. 

“Well, what are the choices?” 

I turned away from my bed and to the dresser. “I have your average preteen girl’s pajama assortment,” I said as I showed her a sample pair. It was pink and green and covered in ice cream cones. Char wrinkled her nose. “And then I have a lacy camisole thingee with a matching pair of shorts.” I didn’t pull it out of the drawer. It was black and largely see-through and something I’d bought on impulse. I didn’t know what would happen if I actually wore it in front of Jordan. 

“Definitely that,” Charlotte replied certainly. 

“What’s wrong with my other pjs?” 

“You said it yourself, Haley,” she said, swiveling my desk chair around so she could see me better. “They’re kinda, uh, immature.” Charlotte rose from my chair and flopped down on my bed, which she matched today. She was wearing a white shirt. “Sometimes I wonder about you. You are like a fountain of sex knowledge, but you seem to be stuck in middle school mode in some ways. If you weren’t with Jordan, I wouldn’t be surprised if you said boys were ‘icky.’” 

I was surprised she didn’t know; I mean, I’d shouted that I’d been raped in front of a dozen kids. I would have thought the whole school would have heard by now. 

Then again, maybe she was trying to find the truth out for herself. “I’m a case of arrested development,” I said. I figured I’d straddle the line and see where this went. “In some ways, I never got past being fourteen.” 

I made eye contact with Charlotte for pretty much the first time all conversation. I held her gaze until she looked away. “Okay,” she said, and I couldn’t quite tell what she meant by that. Was she acknowledging my comment, or steering the conversation around it? “But I still think you should pack the sexy pajamas,” she went on. “Jordan will be turned on all the time if you wear them.” 

I smiled. “He doesn’t need any help with that,” I joked. “Anyway, if that’s your goal, maybe I shouldn’t pack _any_ pajamas.” 

My mom walked by my open door at that moment, but I knew she’d been listening in. For the past week, she’d been hovering and trying far too hard in all aspects regarding me. “Pack pajamas,” she insisted as she shifted a laundry basket from one hip to the other. 

Charlotte and I giggled as Mom walked away. “Let’s compromise,” I suggested. “One pair of baby pajamas _and_ the sexy ones. I might find an appropriate use for them. My main concern is that Jordan has a roommate, and I’m not interested in being almost naked in front of him.”

“That makes sense, then,” Charlotte conceded. She was watching me; I’d gone back to packing. “But you two are going to get some time alone, right? Otherwise, what’s the point in you even going?” 

I put my favorite pair of summer pajamas into the bag along with the see-through set. “When did you become such a…what’s the word?” 

Char giggled. “I don’t know,” she said. 

“You don’t know the word, or when you became one?” 

“Both.” 

I giggled too. “When did you become so interested in _my_ sex life, or lack thereof?” I put the suitcase aside and sat down next to her. 

She was smirking. “I’m just trying to repay you for all the advice you gave me back in the fall,” she suggested, but I didn’t really buy it. 

I changed the subject. “How are things between you and Bill?” 

Charlotte rolled onto her stomach and grabbed one of my pillows to prop herself up on. “We made a decision that we’re going to keep things going for the summer and then not make any promises after that. I’ll be up in Boston and Bill will be in Washington D.C. I don’t know how you manage a long distance relationship, Haley. It’s definitely not for me.” I nodded and she smiled. “I felt like a big burden was lifted off my shoulders when he suggested that. I had no idea how I was going to tell him.” 

I pulled my legs up in front of me. My bed is on the small side and Charlotte was taking up most of it lying down. It was moments like that when I missed By the most, because we always used to sit back to back on the bed so that we each had plenty of room. “And have you had any need for…sexy pajamas…yourself?” I asked her. 

“Subtle.” Char replied dryly. “Very subtle.” I shrugged; I never said I had it in me to be anything but obvious. “No, Bill and I agreed to keep our pants on since that one day, and it mostly goes okay, although we both have days when we are in the mood for more. I thought about having a talk with my mom about birth control and I just couldn’t do it. And since I about died at the thought of buying condoms, I decided you were right.” 

“Hey, it could be worse,” I suggested. “My mom has been trying to get me on birth control for a year. The more I insist I’m not having sex any time soon, the more she tries.” 

Charlotte sat up. “Think she’d take me in to get birth control with you? Like a two for one special?” 

“Charlotte!” I exclaimed. She giggled once again and I tossed a pillow at her. “What a great talk that would be. ‘Mom, can you take me and my friends to the gynecologist?’” 

“You have no idea how lucky you are that you can actually have a conversation with your mom about sex and stuff like that,” she commented. 

“If you call being cornered while my mom talks about condoms and I cover my ears a conversation, okay then.” 

She looked at me askance and I sighed dramatically. Char got the hint and changed the subject. “So…what kind of panties are you packing?” 

I just rolled my eyes. 

*** 

My flight was first thing Saturday morning. Mom had agreed to take me to the airport because she was afraid Daddy would ‘forget’ how to get there until after the plane to Florida had already left. “You’ll have to forgive your dad,” Mom had told me as we pulled out of the neighborhood. “He has no idea what it’s like to be a teenaged girl.” 

“I should hope not,” I replied. 

Mom ignored that. “You’ll always be his little girl,” she continued, and I saw her hands tighten around the steering wheel. She wasn’t really talking about Daddy at that moment. “Even when you’re eighty and he’s one hundred and five, you’ll still be his baby.” 

“By then,” I said, watching the scenery out the window rather than my mother’s face, “I could practically be a great-great-grandmother myself.” 

Mom tilted her head to one side as she thought about that. “You’d have to get started pretty soon,” she observed. 

I turned away from the window. “Please tell me this is not another safe-sex talk,” I begged. “I’d hate to leave for a week while you’re on my nerves.” 

She chuckled. “No, no. All I’m saying is that if you wanted to be a great-great-grandmother by eighty, you’d have to have a child in the next year or so.” 

“Believe me, I’ve got no plans for that. I have no intention of being a mom until I’m a boring old married lady.” 

We stopped at a stop light and Mom looked at me. “Is that how you see me?” she asked suddenly. “As an old boring married lady?” 

I sighed. “No, Mom. You’re not boring.” She made a face and I hastily added, “And you’re not old, either.” And she wasn’t. My parents were on the young side when they got married—just twenty-four and twenty-two—and I came along less than a year later. My mom wasn’t even forty-two yet. Compared to some of my friends’ parents, they were babies. 

Mom was quiet for a while, and I could see her stewing over my comment, even though it hadn’t been directed at her in any way. “All I’m saying, Mom, is that I don’t plan to get married any time soon, and even if I ever get married, I don’t plan to have kids right away. I want to see some of the world. I want to climb the Eiffel Tower. I want to see the Great Wall of China. I want to visit every state in this country.” 

“You’re a dreamer, Haley,” Mom said, not looking at me this time, “and I love that about you. I had some dreams like that myself…not quite as big as yours, but still important. I gave some of them up when I got pregnant unexpectedly. I think you’re a better end result than what I would have accomplished going to grad school, though. I mean, what do you do with a M.A. in Russian literature anyway?” We looked at each other briefly and she laughed. “My only point is that you shouldn’t plan your life too thoroughly. Plans change in an instant. Something happens that surprises us. We fall in love when we least expect it.” I twisted my pearl ring around, thinking of Jordan. “Our wants and needs change through the years. I’ve thought about going back to school—not for an M.A. in Russian literature anymore, but maybe to become an audiologist. I could work with the deaf on a more professional level.” 

I watched her for a moment, waiting for her to go on. “You totally should!” I enthused. I was going off to college in a few months; Matt would be getting his driver’s license next year. We didn’t need Mom hovering over us like we had when we were little. It might be nice for her to have an identity outside of being ‘the deaf kid’s mom’ or the ‘crazy girl’s mom.’ 

Mom smiled. “Maybe after Matt goes off to school. For now, I’m happy with things the way they are.” She threw me a pointed look, one I didn’t quite understand, but then turned back to the road. “I’m going to have a hard time in the fall when you leave for school, you know. For the past eighteen years, my life has revolved around you and your brother. I know you have sometimes felt as if my life revolved mostly around Matt, and to some extent that was true. After all, you can—and definitely did—speak for yourself, while Matt always needed me to translate. And I know that you resented both me and him for that at various points. But I want to make sure you know that I never loved you any less than I loved him. You might say I’d loved you all the more for your independence.” 

“I know, Mom,” I answered her quietly. 

She looked over at me once again. “Good. Now, let’s change the subject before I start getting all teary-eyed over here.” I grinned at that. “Your favorite topic: sex.” 

I groaned loudly. “Muh-ohm!” I exclaimed, turning whiny. “Anything but that.” 

She ignored my both my protest and my tone. “I want you to take this,” she said, pulling a small, satiny bag out of her purse and handing it to me. “I know you said that you don’t plan on having sex any time soon, and I believe you. But love and romance and sex don’t always go according to plan.” 

I took the bag from her reluctantly and opened it. It contained several condoms and a container of spermicidal foam. I cringed, not because I was embarrassed by birth control, like Charlotte was, but because that meant my mom had actually gone and bought stuff especially for me. I hoped she didn’t make a special trip on my behalf. “I appreciate your concern,” I replied stiffly. 

Mom gave a crooked smile and shook her head. “Humor me, Haley. Just put the bag in your suitcase when we get to the airport. If you don’t have sex, it never has to come out of the bag. I’m still your mother and I can still ‘forget’ where the airport is, a la your father.” 

I zipped the bag shut. “I get the hint,” I told her, feeling like I’d just been blackmailed. 

*** 

The airport in Gainesville is tiny compared to JFK. I found my baggage carousel right away and located my suitcase pretty quickly. Until that point, I’d felt pretty confident. I mean, I’d never flown before, but here I was. I’d made it in one piece. 

I just wasn’t sure how I was getting to the university campus. 

Jordan wasn’t sure exactly who was going to pick me up. He’d told me that he had games all weekend long and he was pretty sure they were in town. That ‘pretty sure’ wasn’t very reassuring to me, though. He had a couple of friends who had cars, so he figured he could find me a ride. That was the last update on the subject from two weeks ago. 

I pulled out my cell phone and called his dorm room. I didn’t know if he was going to be coming to the airport with his friend or if I’d be riding back alone with a total stranger. At the very least, maybe Dave would be home and would have some details. But the phone rang until the answering machine picked up. 

I still had the phone to my ear as I started walking. I was a problem solver; I could get past this if Jordan had forgotten to find me a ride. I’d find someone who worked here and see if there were buses that led from the airport to downtown. There had to be, right? And if not, a taxi couldn’t be too horribly expensive. 

I found the main exit from the airport and saw people milling everywhere, waiting for their loved ones and friends to appear. There were families being reunited, children hugging parents and couples smooching each other. And there, off to one side, was a young woman, not much older than I was, wearing a plaid kilt and a light-weight sweater. She had long brown hair pulled up elegantly off her neck. And she was holding a sign with my name on it. 

I approached her cautiously. She was looking over my head, at the crowd leaving the terminal. She was obviously still looking for me. “Hi,” I said. I startled her, but she shook that off quickly. “I’m Haley.” 

“Of course you are,” she said, a little slowly, but she smiled warmly. “I’ve seen your picture many times. I’m Jessica Whitechurch. I’m Dave’s girlfriend.” 

Jessica. I’d heard of her. Not only that, I was a lot less leery of getting into a car with a woman I’d never met instead of a man. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Jordan only has good things to say about you.” 

Jessica grinned. “I’m sure it’s nothing compared to how he talks about you.” I hefted my backpack and put the straps over both of my shoulders. Jessica grabbed my suitcase and we left the terminal for the parking lot. 

I had so many questions to ask Jessica, both about how Jordan was doing and about the university as a whole. One of the problems about refusing to tell my parents that I was applying there—or that I’d been accepted and planned to attend—was that it was a little hard to get to know the campus. I’d spoken to a recruiter at a college fair in Stamford, but that was about it. And of course the recruiter was only going to tell me the best features about the school. I wanted to know the realities. It was about half the reason I’d decided to come out to Florida for break. 

But before I got a chance to even get started, she gave me the bad news. “I hate to be the one to tell you this,” Jessica said reluctantly, before we even got to the car, “but Jordan got his schedule wrong. The team is in Texas this weekend.” 

I stopped in my tracks. “Texas?” I repeated mournfully. 

She winced. “I know. He felt absolutely awful when he realized that, but by then it was yesterday morning. He left you a note in his dorm room; among other things, it says he’ll be home late tomorrow.” Jessica watched me closely. “I know you told your parents that you’re staying in my dorm room with me, so why don’t you actually spend today and tomorrow with me and my roommate? We’ll give you a real taste of what college life is like.” 

I adjusted my straps. “That sounds okay,” I said lamely. I hadn’t realized how anxious I was to see Jordan until the opportunity had been snatched from me for a couple more days. Jessica made a face, and I could tell I was about to get some sympathy. I waved it off. “Actually, I really do need to get to know the campus, anyway,” I shared. “Since I’ll be going there in the fall.” 

Jessica turned to face me. “Jordan doesn’t know yet, does he?” she asked me. I shook my head. “That explains so much. He said you were being vague about where you were going. He seemed to think that might mean you were headed a long way from here and were afraid to tell him. I think he mentioned Alaska.” 

I had to smile at that. Jordan’s runaway imagination is almost as bad as mine. “Actually, he’s not the one I’m afraid to tell. I haven’t told my parents yet because I don’t want to be accused of heading somewhere just because it’s where my boyfriend happens to go.” 

We reached her car, a dented-up little Toyota that looked as if it had a bad muffler. “And of course, that wasn’t a factor,” Jessica said slyly as she opened the trunk. 

I took my suitcase from her and hefted it among the detritus in her trunk. “Of course it was a factor,” I corrected, and she grinned. “But if Jordan didn’t happen to go to a school with one of the top twenty anthropology programs in the country, then I probably wouldn’t have applied there at all.” I’d laughed when I’d seen that list. Harvard, Charlotte’s destination next year, had been at the top, but I knew there was no way I’d ever get in _there._ Duke had been an option as well, and if I hadn’t been so firm in my belief that By wasn’t going back there in the fall, I probably would have applied there. I’d ended up applying to both the University of Florida and the University of Washington, although I couldn’t explain my logic on that one. I’d been accepted to both. 

During the ride back to campus, Jessica told me all about the different dorms and living arrangements on campus. “Jordan and Dave’s dorm has four guys sharing a bathroom, but in two regular rooms. Some of the other rooms are suites, with four people sharing a bathroom and living space. My dorm has a shared bathroom down the hall, but it has a bunch of other features that make it popular.” 

The muffler was as noisy as I’d suspected it would be and, to be honest, Jessica’s driving was a little bit scary. I grasped the sides of my seat and checked my seatbelt. If I were a religious person, I probably would have prayed. “I have a bunch of paperwork to turn in this week, and one of them is a list of preferred dorms. I have no idea what to choose.” 

“Well,” Jessica said, and she turned to me as she was driving. The car pulled to the right and she swore under her breath as she jerked the wheel to fix the path of the vehicle. After a tense moment, she spoke to me, her eyes fixed on the road this time. “As I was saying, Dave and Jordan have decided to room together again next year, in the same room. That complex is just for freshmen and sophomores, so you could choose any of those dorms if you wanted to be near to your boy.” She looked over her shoulder and switched lanes rapidly. A horn honked in that lane and I closed my eyes, waiting for a collision that thankfully never occurred. “But there are a lot of other great options, too.” 

When we got to Jessica’s dorm, I saw right away why she liked it. It was one of the old-school girls’ dorms from back when girls went to college to get their MRS. degrees, before they were known as college women. You had to sign in and out, and sign in your guests as well. The dorm buildings were small, more like a sorority house, only without the dues and initiation, and fewer than fifty women lived in each building. It was exactly where I wanted to be—at least for my freshman year. It was a nice stepping stone from my parents’ house to the insecurity of the real world. “I have _got_ to get into one of these dorms,” I told her roommate, Colette, a tall, willowy girl with surprisingly red hair. (There’s no way that shade was natural.) 

“It can be hard to get in here,” Colette said, not looking up from her astronomy textbook. “But it sounds like you’re turning in your paperwork early enough, so you may have a shot still.” 

Sunday, Jessica and Colette started the day off by heading off to church. Jessica asked me to come, but I declined. “Not really my thing,” I said, still in my pajamas while they dressed up nicely but conservatively. 

“Oh?” Jessica replied, and I could see the gears turning behind her eyes. “Jordan usually goes to church with us when he’s in town.” 

I smiled faintly. Even though I really wasn’t into Jesus, I was glad to see that Jordan was keeping up with his faith here in Gainesville. “Yeah, that sounds like him.” 

I could sense Jessica wanted to go on, but Colette tugged at her sleeve. “We’re going to be late if we don’t scoot now,” she insisted. 

The two of them exited, leaving me to my own devices with a key to their room in my purse. I bummed around for a while, showered and got dressed, then, armed with a map of campus, wandered over to Jordan’s dorm. Compared to Jessica’s, it seemed insecure and unsafe; without any identification or key, I was able to walk into the building, follow some other kids into the elevator, and wind up on Jordan’s floor. 

I can’t explain why I wanted to go there right at that moment. Maybe I thought he might have come home already and just hadn’t called me yet, although that didn’t sound like him. More likely I just wanted to see his things: the Yankees poster I knew was hanging in his dorm, maybe a photo of the two of us together. And smell his smell, which I was guessing wouldn’t be hard to do. You could tell which rooms belonged to guys just by walking by them. 

All of the doors were dolled up. Two name tags decorated each door, in the shape of a sailboat. Katie and Meredith lived here; Brandon and Keith stayed across the hall. Underneath each of those were various individual decorations: sorority and fraternity labels, as well as art from various sports and clubs and pictures from home. I spotted a door with a baseball on it, and a postcard from Connecticut. I got excited because I was thinking about how well Jordan would get along with this person, but then I looked up at the name tags: Dave and Jordan. I was looking at his door. 

It was shut and locked tight. I was having a sentimental moment, so I reached out and touched the white piece of paper decorated like a baseball. Jessica had said Jordan would be home sometime later that evening, which should have made me excited. I had gone three months and six days without seeing him. But knowing that I was in his space, standing outside his door, made those last twelve hours or so seem longer than the three months. 

I was still standing outside the door a few minutes later when I heard a vaguely-familiar voice behind me. “Excuse me, may I help you?” I turned around guiltily, wondering who would have a problem with me standing there. The tall young man with large hands, a large backpack and an even larger coffee watched me for a moment but then smiled grandly. “Never mind, I know I’m not the one who can help you.” Now he had me confused. “You’re Haley, aren’t you?” he said finally. 

I nodded, still not following. The boy jostled his bag around a bit and then dug in his pocket, coming out for a set of keys. Suddenly, the missing piece clicked into place. “Dave?” I asked, more to myself than to him. 

“That’s me. Why don’t you come on in?” 

I froze. “No,” I said abruptly. Dave had gotten the door unlocked and was about to open it, but I startled him and he backed up, leaving the keys dangling from the lock. “I mean,” I continued, realizing how foolish I looked, “You’re probably busy. I don’t want to distract you.” 

He dismissed that. “I’m not doing anything. C’mon in.” 

I stopped in the doorway, weighing options internally. I’d spent four years avoiding guys I didn’t know, and even some I did know. I wanted to go inside the room, see Jordan’s thing and feel his presence. But then I would be alone in a room with a complete stranger. 

In the end, I went inside. It was a combination of things that pushed me to do it. First, Jordan obviously trusted Dave. The two of them had decided to room together again next year, and they were good friends. I’d heard enough Dave stories and had even seen his picture a few times. Obviously, he’d seen enough of me to recognize me on sight. And it’s not like we hadn’t spoken on the phone a few dozen times. 

“Looks like Jordan will be home just before midnight, which means that you and I have a couple choices. You’re welcome to sleep here tonight—be here to surprise him when he gets in. Or you can spend the night with Jessica again. She and Colette said they don’t mind having you sleep there any night for the rest of your visit.” 

I was standing in the doorway, staring around the room. It was so different from Jessica’s, where they had a set of bunk beds and a built in double desk. There was a loft that contained two mattresses, built in storage chests, and back-to-back desks leading to a door that must be the bathroom. I saw Jordan’s Yankees poster next to a hockey poster—the Chicago Blackhawks, of all teams. Jordan’s things were all mixed in with Dave’s, the familiar next to the unfamiliar. If he’d been expected home before bed, I would definitely have wanted to spend the night, but I didn’t think I’d be able to fall asleep in the loft, which was just like sharing one giant bed, with Dave asleep on the other side. 

Dave had actually just come home from church himself, although he was Catholic and went to a different service from the others. It was weird being surrounded by people who talked about faith and God all the time, but none of Jordan’s friends was pushy about it, and both Jessica and Dave had no problem cursing or drinking or doing other normal things for people their age. 

I felt uncomfortable being in the room without Jordan; I hadn’t even moved away from the door. “Maybe I should head back to Jessica’s,” I said awkwardly. 

Dave looked up from his computer, his face crinkled into a frown. “Well, she was hoping we could have lunch together in a few minutes,” he said. “Would that be okay? Then the three of—and Colette too, if she’s free—can find something to do for the afternoon and evening.” 

I nervously twisted my hands together in front of my chest. “That sounds okay,” I said, knowing I didn’t sound very convincing. 

“Hey, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we spend our last few minutes before lunch exploring the dorm? I know Jess took you around campus, but this way, you’ll be able to show off to Jordan when you see him.” He stood from his computer chair and plucked an envelope off Jordan’s desk, which he handed to me without ceremony. 

I held the envelope tightly in front of me, trying to will myself to sound more enthusiastic than I felt. “Okay,” I repeated. 

*** 

As we wandered around the building over the next half hour, I noticed Dave watching me closely, assessingly. He backed off me at first, waiting for me to make the first overture of friendship. I won’t say I was really responsive, but by the time we made it to lunch, we could have a simple conversation without me looking for an escape route. After lunch, we played cards and then went to see a movie, grabbing a late dinner at Papa Sandwich on the way back to campus. We passed a little ice cream stand, where Jessica and I each got a small cone. By that time, Dave was starting to grow on me, and I stopped being quite as wary. It had something to do with the way he declined his own ice cream but then ate more than half of Jessica’s. 

By ten-thirty, Dave was ready to head back to his dorm and get ready for bed. “Are you coming back with me, Haley?” he asked. “Jordan will be back within a couple of hours, and I’m sure he’d love to find you waiting in his bed.” 

I paused but then shook my head. “No, I think I’ll stay here. I’d rather see him when I’m awake, you know?” 

Dave nodded his understanding and left for the evening. Jessica, Colette and I all changed into our pjs and prepared for bed, although none of us was quite ready for sleep. “How long have you and Jordan been together?” Colette asked. 

“Almost a year,” I said as I stretched out on Colette’s inflatable mattress. It was small and thin and not really comfortable, but it was better than sleeping on the linoleum floor. 

“Must be hard trying to keep things going when you’re in different states,” Jessica observed. 

I was lying on my stomach, propping my head up on my arms. Jessica was sitting in a beanbag chair and Colette was on the top bunk, leaning off the edge a bit. “It has its rough patches,” I admitted. “But we only have one month left before he comes home for the summer.” 

“Dave’s really keen about giving you two all the space you need,” Jessica went on. “He’d give you the place to yourselves all week if he could.” She lowered her voice as Colette rolled back into the bunk, pulling the covers up over her. “He also said that you two can help yourselves to his stash of condoms if you need them.” 

I looked down at my hands. That was pretty presumptuous of both Dave and Jessica, but it was a logical assumption. I didn’t know anyone else who’d made it a whole year with a guy and hadn’t slept with him. But I also didn’t know anyone else who had, in my psychologist’s words, ‘rape trauma syndrome.’ (I was certain this was something she’d made up just to make me feel less crazy. We hadn’t really had a chance to dig into my toilet training problems or whatever, since we’d spent the whole first session with her assuring me that, no matter what had happened, I was normal.) Jessica’s hair was loose, hanging over her shoulders, and she wore a pair of pajamas with bunnies on them. They went well with the little purple elephants all over _my_ pajamas. She smiled a knowing smile. Even though she and Dave had nothing but great to me, they were still strangers. I didn’t owe them any kind of explanation, so I played coy—but truthful. “No worries,” I said slowly, “I have my own.” 

She grinned. “Good girl,” she said, still quiet. One thing I’d figured out this weekend: Colette was more what I’d expected out of a church-going girl than Jessica was, constantly pious and a lot more wholesome. She was the type of girl my parents would point out to me and ask why I couldn’t be more like that. But she although she wasn’t one for lecturing, she had perfected the ‘disapproving look’ my mother was so good at. Jessica had learned to roll her eyes at it and just not discuss certain subjects in her presence. 

Colette rolled over into her bed and Jessica hopped into the lower bunk. She pulled out a paperback and leaned out toward me. “Okay if I read for a little while?” she asked. “The light won’t bother you, will it?” 

I pulled up the blankets and lay down on the pillow. “No problem,” I said. I pulled out the envelope from earlier and opened it. Jordan’s handwriting always looks belabored, like a small child’s, and I honestly just stared at it for a moment before I started reading. The letter was nothing special; basically, it just reiterated what I already knew: Jordan was in Texas, he’d be back around midnight, and he was sorry to have missed me this weekend. I rubbed my finger over the ending, where he’d written, ‘Love, Jordan.’ I was turning into such a sap. 

I folded the letter back up and stuck it under my pillow, remembering that he’d be back in town when I woke up in the morning. 

*** 

Jordan may have been back in town that morning, but I didn’t see him. He had four hours of sleep before he went off to practice, and then he had class on and off all day. I ate lunch with Colette on the quad and then spent the afternoon exploring campus. I even sat in on an anthropology lecture that I stumbled upon by accident. Afterward, I had dinner with Dave and Jessica and then Dave helped me move all my stuff to Jordan’s so that I was ready for him when he came home. 

As usual, Jordan wasn’t home until after eight p.m. By then, Dave had gone over to Jessica’s to work on his homework and give us some privacy. “How was your day, honey?” Jordan asked. 

I sat on the steps up to the lofted bed. “I wandered around and pretended I belonged here.” 

He laughed. “How much effort did that take?” I shrugged at him, smiling. “Mondays are always the worst for me, but it should get better as the week goes on.” 

“Good,” I said, still smiling. He came over and gave me a quick kiss. He smelled of sweat and something I couldn’t place. “Are you going to take a shower before we go to bed?” 

Jordan grinned. “Are you going to join me?” he teased. I just smiled at him again and he gave me another kiss. He removed his shirt, dropping it into his laundry hamper, and gathered a few things. As he disappeared into the bathroom, I wished I was actually brave enough to take him up on his joking offer. 

By had warned me that Jordan was prone to long showers, but he returned just a few minutes later. I was sitting at his desk, sending my mom an email. I figured that if I kept in touch by email and text, she’d be less likely to actually call me. Jordan sat down at Dave’s desk and just watched me for a few seconds. “How are things back at home?” I shrugged at him again, suddenly feeling shy. He reached over and brushed my hair out of my eyes. “How’s Vanessa, for example? She usually sends me TMI emails on a regular basis, but I haven’t heard from her since early March.” 

I relaxed. “Oh, I guess you didn’t hear,” I said. He leaned in closer. “She’s been pretty depressed the last few weeks…ever since she found out she didn’t get into Vassar.” 

Jordan winced. “Ick,” he said sympathetically. “That sucks for her.” 

“Yeah. I thought she’d applied to some other places too, but I guess not. It’s not like her to put all her eggs in one basket like that, but I think she figured there was no way she wouldn’t get in.” I finished my email and turned Jordan’s chair around completely so that I was facing him. “She went into hiding for a while. Not even P could get through to her.” Jordan wrinkled his forehead and started to speak, but I went on. “I came home one day and he was waiting for me in my driveway. He wanted to talk about Vanessa, so we talked…for a couple of hours.” 

Jordan shook his head. “Sounds like ‘fun.’” 

“Actually, it wasn’t that bad,” I commented. “I know he seems like a giant goofball, but that’s just an act he puts out.” I drew my knees up to my chest. “I don’t know if Vanessa ever worked out a plan, but she came out of her bedroom long enough to go camping with Charlotte and Becca for spring break.” 

“Vanessa? Camping?” He pretended to look shocked. “Vanessa’s idea of roughing it is going without her eyeliner.” 

I grinned. “I know. And Charlotte is even worse. But they’re going with P and Bill and one of their friends.” 

“My parents are going to allow that?” 

“Of course not. Vanessa is driving the girls up, and the boys are meeting them there. When I left, they were debating who was sleeping with whom.” That had actually been a really funny conversation, watching Becca get more and more frustrated as she realized the other two girls were trying to set her up with P’s friend Kenny. I hopped out of the chair and sat down on an empty spot on Dave’s desk, putting my toes on the edge of Dave’s chair next to Jordan’s thighs. He reached over and touched one of my fuchsia toenails. I’d painted them for the first time in years the day before, while hanging out alone in Jessica’s room. “Vanessa had asked P what he wanted to do for break, and he told her that he and Bill always went camping. P is big into camping.” 

Jordan tugged my foot. “P?” he repeated. He’d only spent time with P once since Vanessa had started dating him, at my New Year’s party. 

“Oh, yeah. Remember when I told you we talked for a couple of hours? He told me he’s _really_ into the great outdoors. He spends as much time as possible outside. He’s even going to the University of Illinois to study bugs—entomology.”

He snorted. “You know, you can major in that here, too.” 

“Is that another major you’ve considered studying?” I teased. 

“No, thank you,” he replied. “Right now, the only thing I want to study is you.” 

And I was feeling shy—and nervous—again. I ducked my head, watching him run his thumb over my toes. I think Jordan knows me too well, because he read me right away. “Did you want to spend the night at Jessica’s again tonight? Or if you like, I can get Dave to bring the air mattress here when he comes home.” 

I shook my head. “No,” I mumbled. 

“What’s bothering you?” I shrugged. “You know I’m not expecting anything of you, right?” Jordan stood up and came closer. He was right over my head. “You get to call the shots, Haley. Always.” 

“I know,” I answered, looking at him through my loose hair. “It’s not you I don’t trust. It’s me.” 

Jordan ran his hands through the hair that hung in my eyes. “What are you talking about?” 

I wrapped my arms around his neck and rested my head on his chest. “All school year long, I’ve missed you so much that you’ve showed up in my dreams nearly every night.” He placed one hand on my back right under my bra and the other on the back of my neck. “In my dreams, we’re usually doing things we’ve never done in reality. I’m just afraid that if we get started, I won’t want to stop.” 

Jordan gave a brief chuckle, but I knew he wasn’t laughing at me. “Well, let’s set some boundaries in advance. Then we won’t have to worry about where to stop.” He pulled me even closer. “Like…bottoms stay on and hands stay above the waist unless we both agree otherwise.” 

“Okay,” I whispered into his shirt. 

He sat back in Dave’s chair and pulled me down into his lap. I leaned my head back onto his chest, just listening to his heart beating for a moment. He slid one hand onto my bare back below my shirt. I sighed and closed my eyes as he rubbed his thumb up and down my spine. “You know something, Haley?” he said in a quiet, sincere voice as he kept running that thumb on my back. “Last summer, I told you I loved you, and I meant every word of it. And you said it back, and I thought you meant it.” I looked up, frowning. Was he really questioning my feelings for him after all this time? “And I think you thought you meant it then, too. But then you turned around and tried to break up with me.” I sighed, embarrassed. “You know what, though? It’s different now. I know you wouldn’t do that again. You have my full and complete trust.” 

I put one hand on his jaw for a moment. “I don’t think I knew what love really meant when I said it the first time,” I admitted. “I cared about you then, definitely. And I could tell you were serious about us. But you’d had more than a year to think about how you felt. I’d had two months.” 

“I think I used to forget that sometimes,” he said with a smile. “You said I’ve been in your dreams all school year? Well, you’ve been in mine since before my seventeenth birthday. More than two years now. And yeah, we’ve done some things there that we’ve never done in real life.” 

I put my head back on his chest. “You know,” I said slowly, “I think I’m okay with hands creeping down below the waist, as long as we keep our pants on. Just…take it slow, okay?” 

His hand moved up a little bit and undid my bra. “Always.” 

*** 

Dave had promised Jordan that he’d stop in the lobby and call before he came upstairs, but we were done long before he called. Jordan had practice early in the morning again, and a weekend spent dashing all over the state of Texas had left him exhausted. We changed into our pajamas in turn in the bathroom. Jordan climbed the ladder to the loft and I waited until he’d disappeared from sight to follow him. 

He was arranging his sheets and blanket when I peeked my head up there. “I told you it was cramped,” he said bashfully. Jordan couldn’t sit up straight; he was hunched over, and the area with his mattress was small and covered with other things. 

I spotted a very familiar-looking book and picked it up. “You have a copy of _The Outsiders_ , too?” I asked. It was one of By’s favorites, along with _To Kill a Mockingbird_ , _A Separate Peace_ and _Lord of the Flies_. Jordan’s copy looked like it might be even more worn than By’s. 

He made a face. “Technically, it’s not mine. I stole it when I was thirteen.” I raised my eyebrows. “I originally just wanted to borrow it, but I ended up never giving it back. Byron still doesn’t know what happened to his first copy. He got so upset that Mom bought him a new book that weekend. I figured he had a new one, so there was no point in confessing and feeling his wrath—or rather, his wounded confusion.” 

I laughed at the phrase. ‘Wounded confusion’ was a good way to put how By responded most of the time when other people wronged him. He was like a puppy that had had its nose bopped with a newspaper and didn’t know why. “Why’d you bring it to school?” I asked him. 

“Why do you think?” he asked. “I don’t have the urge to reread most books, but it’s always nice to have something comforting and familiar—especially at the beginning of the school year when everything was new and tough.” I nodded and climbed higher so that I was sitting next to Jordan’s mattress. “Isn’t there a book out there that spoke to you so much that you wanted to read it over and over?” 

I didn’t even think about the answer. “ _The Jellyfish Season_ ,” I replied. He stretched out across his bed. He was just wearing his boxers and an undershirt. “It’s about a girl who wants so much more than the life she has…or the one her mother has.” 

Jordan patted the mattress next to him and I scrambled across the bed. I wasn’t nervous about sleeping with him in his bed, because I realized just how completely I trusted him. I lay down on my side, face to face with him. “That sounds like something you’d enjoy.” 

“Yeah. I mean, it’s not like my mother has had a bad life, really. It’s just…well, she moved out of her parents’ house and into a college dorm. Then she left there and moved in with my dad and she’s lived with him ever since…except that year they were separated.” I rubbed his forehead. “She’s never been west of the Mississippi in her life and never lived anywhere but two of the tiniest states in the nation. I just want a chance to see a little more of the world than that.” 

“I know,” he responded. “I feel the same way, sometimes. I’ve never wanted to go to Africa or anything, but I do want to go out and do new things.” He smoothed the hair out of my face. “But if you wanted to go to Africa, I’d go with you. I’d go anywhere with you.” 

I closed my eyes. “I love you,” I told him quietly. 

Jordan wrapped his arms around me and kissed my forehead. “I know,” he replied. 

*** 

We didn’t do much else that evening except sleep, and I’m not sure how much of that Jordan actually managed. I awoke several times during the night. The first time, he was completely uncovered and I had his blanket wrapped around me. When I realized what was going on, I threw the blanket over him. I know he was either awake or my actions disturbed him, because he caressed my shoulder as I drifted back off to sleep. 

The second time, I was shivering. I was halfway uncovered and I had goose bumps on the exposed part of my body. I tugged the blanket gently, hoping I wouldn’t uncover Jordan again. I realized I was lying on my stomach and taking up most of the mattress. I felt around for him and discovered he was sleeping in the crack between the mattress and the wall. 

Jordan’s alarm went off not that much later and he quickly turned it off. Dave rolled over and pulled his blankets up a little bit. I sat up in the bed and scooted out of Jordan’s way. “Go back to sleep, honey,” Jordan said, ruffling my hair. “I wouldn’t be up this early if I didn’t have to be.” 

“Did you actually get any sleep at all?” I whispered as he crawled across the mattress to the ladder. 

He grinned at me. “Enough.” He kissed the top of my head. 

I followed Jordan down the ladder and watched him gather up his practice bag and accessories. “I usually go from practice to the library to do homework or reading.” I nodded. “I have class in the morning, but I’m free from lunch until about four. Do you want me to meet you here or somewhere else?” 

“Just tell me when and where,” I answered quietly. I had some business to take care of in order to finish my enrollment, so I figured I might as well head out on campus. 

He listed a cafeteria and a time. He gave me a kiss and quietly headed out the door. I locked it behind him. I climbed back into his bed but found I couldn’t sleep anymore. I’m not sure if it was the fact that I was already awake or the fact that it was daylight and I was acutely aware of Dave sleeping on the other side of the ladder. In any case, I got back up and took a shower, then pulled out my trig book and started working on my homework. 

I was almost finished when Dave’s alarm clock went off. I heard him shuffling around for a few minutes, but then he poked his head out of the bed. “Anyone out there?” he asked. 

“Yeah, I’m here,” I replied. “Do you need me to leave?” 

“Naw, I just wanted some warning.” Dave lowered himself down the ladder, looking exhausted. “Caffeine,” he groaned, “I need caffeine.” 

“Can’t help you with that one.” 

“Ah, but I think you can.” He found a shirt and pulled it on. “There’s this coffee shop called One World that you just have to see. Jessica says you’re going to be joining us here next year, so you’re going to need to develop a coffee addiction like every other college student except your boyfriend…and I’m still working on him. Come with me?” 

“You really want me to come with you?” I repeated. 

“Of course. I mean, I look like a dork when I drink coffee by myself.” Dave grinned, and I could see why he and Jordan got along so well. “Besides, I need some dirt on Jordan if we’re going to be rooming together again next year.” 

I didn’t really feel like I had any dirt on Jordan…at least, not anything that wouldn’t incriminate me, too. But I went to the coffee shop with Dave anyway. “I’m not really one for caffeine,” I told him as we walked. 

“Are you one of those, ‘my body is a temple and I only put pure things in it’ girls?” he asked with a sly smirk. 

“No,” I replied. “I’ve got no problem eating garbage. I just don’t really drink many caffeinated beverages. By—that’s Jordan’s brother, Byron—says that I’m twitchy enough without the added chemicals.” 

“I bet you also don’t drink.” 

“Mostly, but that’s because I can’t hold my liquor.” 

Dave laughed. “I’m not surprised. What are you, eighty pounds?” 

Out of instinct, I reached over and smacked his arm, hard. “You should know better than to ask a lady about her weight.” 

“I can see why Jordan likes you,” Dave said as he rubbed his arm, echoing my earlier thought about him. This made me smile even more than the comment itself. He ordered a massive espresso with extra shots—plural. I ordered the smallest size of latte and a muffin. “By your senior year here, you’ll be doing coffee like I do,” Dave predicted. “And you’ll be able to turn to me—not that I hope to still be here, mind you—and say, ‘gee, thanks.’” 

“I always blame all my faults on a boy,” I said, only half joking. Dave raised his eyebrows. 

When we got back to campus, Dave offered to direct me to my next stop. “No, thanks,” I replied. “I don’t have to be there for a couple hours still. I want to wander around and discover the campus. You find the most interesting stuff when you have no destination in mind.” 

I spent the rest of the morning meandering. I actually didn’t have a scheduled appointment for my paperwork; they’d told me I didn’t need one. When I found the financial aid building, I got everything straightened out. I was now officially enrolled for fall 2005. 

I even managed to find the cafeteria on time without having to ask for help. Jordan met me just a few minutes later and we enjoyed a leisurely meal. Now that he knew I wasn’t going to run away to Jessica’s every night, Jordan seemed relaxed and more at ease. We compared and contrasted the cafeteria food at UF and SHS for a while and then talked about my latest AP English assignment. It wasn’t until we left the cafeteria and walked down the main drag that he told me his good news. “I finally decided on a major,” he announced. 

I was gripping his arm with both my hands. “Really? What is it?” 

He was wearing a funny little smile. “Guess.” 

We stopped walking and I turned to him. “There are a lot of things to study here,” I said slowly. “I could be guessing forever.” 

“Well, we’ll just have to stand here forever then,” Jordan teased. 

I let go of his arm and instead crossed my own arms across my front. “Give me a hint.” 

“Nope.” 

“Fine, then,” I replied, pouting. “I’m not going to guess.” 

This seemed to please Jordan just a little too much. I suddenly realized he was messing with my head the way his brother likes to. “Suit yourself,” he said genially. He reached for my hand and, after a moment (during which I was still glaring at him a little bit), I accepted. 

He was going to play that game, huh? I decided I needed to get back at him a little bit. “I guess if you’re not going to tell me,” I said, looking up and down the street rather than at him, “I’ll just have to withhold something, too.” 

“Oh?” 

“Yup. No kisses until you tell me what you’re keeping from me.” 

He stopped dead in his tracks and tugged my arm gently so that I stopped too. I didn’t drop his hand, just turned back to him. I was wearing a smirk not too different from his own a moment before. Jordan caught on. “You’re a cruel person, Haley Braddock,” he said with a small smile. 

I giggled. “Never try to play a player, Jordan.” 

“I’ll figure that out one of these days,” he answered. I squeezed his hand. “And maybe you’ll figure out that I’m an open book. I bet if you tried hard enough, you could find the answer out without me having to tell you.” 

*** 

I took Jordan’s room key from him when we parted ways. He had class just before lunch on Tuesdays and Thursdays and again just before dinner. I’d promised to have dinner ready for him when he got back to the dorms. I suspect he thought I was going for carryout, but I figured that while we were playing house, I was going to go all the way. When I’d explored the dorm with Dave on Sunday, we’d found a kitchen, complete with an oven and stove. I still wasn’t much of a cook, but I did a little shopping and brought home the ingredients for a casserole. I messed around in the kitchen for a little while before I found a baking dish. It was way too much food for just Jordan and me, but I figured I’d leave the leftovers for whoever was hungry. Once the food was cooking, I headed back to Jordan and Dave’s room. “There you are!” Dave exclaimed. He was sitting in his desk chair, while Jessica was in Jordan’s. “We were wondering if you needed dinner companions. I know Jordan’s got class this evening.” 

I shook my head. “I’ve already got something in the oven.” 

Jessica stared at me, but there was a twinkle in her eye. “You may be the first person in the history of this university to ever use that oven.” 

“Just tell me it’s not a bun in the oven,” Dave said with a laugh. I rolled my eyes at him, but I was smiling. “Okay, then. I’ll be at Jessica’s for the evening. I’ll be back around midnight. Do you need me to call before I head over?” 

I’d been up since four-thirty. There was no way I’d make it until midnight. “Nope. We should be fast asleep by then.” 

“You two are like an old married couple,” Jessica said. “It’s so cute.” She hopped out of Jordan’s chair and Dave rose more slowly. 

“Have fun,” I called to the two of them as they left. I sat down in the chair Jessica had just vacated. It was still warm. My trig book was where I’d left it in front of the keyboard. I closed it up and put it back into my backpack, which I had left under the desk, and then I looked around at Jordan’s stuff, which was messy and a little disorganized. I found a piece of paper tucked up behind the computer monitor that got my attention. It looked like Jordan meant to stick it up on the cork board that ran behind the computer but never got around to it. It was a list of required classes for a hospitality management degree with dates written in. I smiled as I realized Jordan was right: not only was he an open book, but he’d just basically encouraged me to dig through his personal documents. He wasn’t kidding around about trusting me. Would I feel the same way if he looked through my stuff? I wasn’t sure. 

I found some pushpins in his drawer and tacked the paper up so that he’d know I knew without any words being exchanged. 

*** 

Jordan didn’t say anything about his paper going up on the cork board, but I’m also not sure he even saw it. The two of us sat down to eat dinner (which he raved about even though I’d just opened a couple of cans and cut up some chicken…I’ve discovered that I can cook as long as I don’t have to stand and stir anything). When we were done eating, I yawned loudly. “I’m beat,” I told him. 

“Did you get any sleep after I left?” he asked. We had just come back from the kitchen, where he’d washed our dishes. I’d left the rest of the casserole on the counter with a note saying ‘please eat’ and now the dish was empty. Jordan had washed that, too. 

I shook my head. “Nope. I tried for a while, but then I did my homework instead.” 

He chuckled. “Well, why don’t we head to bed in a little bit, then?” I nodded. “I have a game tomorrow night—a home game. Did you want to come?” 

“Of course. Didn’t I go to almost all of your games last year?” 

Jordan kissed my head. “I’m not exactly the star this year like I was back at SHS. I barely get to play.” He sounded embarrassed, as if it were difficult to admit. 

I’d had the feeling. “I’m sure you’re great when you get out there, though, right?” I said encouragingly. “You’re a team player. I’m sure that you’ll get to play more as time goes on.” 

He grinned. “I’m sure you’re right. You usually are.” 

I sat down in Dave’s recliner and Jordan joined me, practically sitting in my lap. “If they even mention your name, I’ll cheer so loud everyone will think you have a fan club.” I wiggled my legs out from underneath Jordan but snuggled up to his side. I put my head on his shoulder and my hand on his chest. 

Jordan replied to my comment, but I barely heard him. I was already half asleep, sitting upright with him talking baseball. 

*** 

Jordan woke me a short time later and we climbed into the loft. He was dressed again in his underclothes, while I was wearing my un-sexy pajamas. We cuddled for a little while, arms wrapped around each other, and then drifted off to sleep. 

But the problems from the night before were even worse. I awoke multiple times for various reasons. The two of us had a tug of war over the blanket a couple times, and I had to scoot out from underneath Jordan’s arm or even his whole body a few other cases. 

Jordan’s alarm went off at four-thirty again, and he dragged himself out of bed. I didn’t ask him if he’d slept enough today, because I knew the answer was ‘no.’ I rolled over when he got up, but I was asleep again before he even left the bathroom. 

When I woke again, it was nearly lunch time. I shuffled across the floor in my bare feet and sat down at Jordan’s desk. He’d left me a note: “I have to meet with a study group over lunch today, so I won’t be able to see you until the game.” 

I took my school bag to the student center and finished all my homework. Jessica called me just before lunch and invited me to join her and Colette, but I declined. I ate by myself, feeling confused. Jordan’s note had sounded terse and I wasn’t sure if he was upset with me or just tired and cranky. I knew he didn’t have class at all after lunch, so why was he avoiding me? I headed back to the dorms to find Dave reading a text on a subject so boring that just the title put me to sleep. Not wanting to disturb him, I grabbed Jordan’s copy of _The Outsiders_ and sat down in the lounge in the lobby, forcing myself to read the book. 

I had more fun during the game that evening. Jordan did get to play, and he helped make a pretty spectacular double play during the fifth inning. Baseball’s not really my game, but I’ve learned to appreciate it a little more over the past year. I wore a new Gators shirt I’d bought earlier that day and sat beside Dave and Jessica, who cheered along with me. When it was over, he didn’t head into the locker room with his teammates, but hunted me down in the stands. “What did you think?” he asked after he gave me a big kiss. 

“You were as awesome as always,” I told him. Jordan gave me a tight hug, which is not always the best thing for him to do after he’s spent the last few hours sweating, but I didn’t mind this time. He was grinning at me, and while I knew part of that was the thrill of actually getting to play (and getting to play well, in front of me), at least some of that was directed at the fact that I was even there. He wasn’t upset with me; maybe we had just needed a little break from each other after the struggles the night before. 

We celebrated the victory with the team for a while and then headed home—if you could call the dorm room home. Dave was at a study group, so we were alone again. I wasn’t sure what to expect: would Jordan want to make out for a while, or would he be too tired? It was definitely a case of the latter. “I’m going to shower and then go straight to sleep,” he told me. “I’m wiped out. Between the game and early morning practices and not sleeping right—” Jordan cut out, chagrined. He seemed to worry that he was blaming me for his tiredness. 

“I get it,” I told him wearily. “I slept until eleven-thirty today.” He smiled, just as tired as I felt. “I think,” I continued, “that I’ll sleep on the recliner tonight. Let you catch up on your sleep.” 

Jordan leaned on the wall next to the bathroom door and tested the knob. It opened, meaning neither of the boys from the next dorm room was using the facilities. “You don’t have to do that,” he said. 

“It’s alright. I don’t mind.” 

Jordan looked like he wanted to argue with me, but then he shook his head. “If it stops being comfortable,” he said, “come back up. I won’t mind.” 

*** 

Thursday was Jordan’s only day off from practice and games and everything baseball. As such, his alarm didn’t go off until much later. Even though the recliner wasn’t really comfortable, I had slept so much better alone than in the loft. I think Jordan could say the same, because he had a lot more spring to his step. Dave got up with him, both of them having class about the same time. I closed my eyes and pretended to be sleeping still, and they both believed it. “Trouble in paradise?” Dave asked in a whisper. 

“What are you talking about?” Jordan sounded irritated. 

“I’m talking about Haley sleeping in the chair last night. You two have a fight or something?” Dave was puttering around, moving as he spoke. 

Jordan was much more relaxed in his response. “Nope. She just decided we would both sleep better if we didn’t have to share a bed.” 

“Believe me, I get that,” Dave chuckled. “Is she a blanket hog like Jessica, or more of a whole bed hog?” 

I waited for Jordan’s reply. “Both,” he said. Neither one of them was being quite as quiet any more. It was a good thing I wasn’t actually asleep, because they would have woken me up. It was bad enough that Jordan had just called me a bed hog; I didn’t need him knowing I knew. “I don’t really blame her, though. She’s never shared a bed with anyone before, not even a sister or anything like that.” 

Dave opened the fridge that was next to the recliner. I shifted slightly, pulling Jordan’s throw blanket up over myself a little, and he apparently accepted that as normal sleep restlessness. “Virgin?” he asked quietly, but I could feel that he was aiming that in my direction. 

“Yup,” Jordan answered. 

Dave walked away from the refrigerator. “Still? Even after you two have spent all this time together?” 

And Jordan was annoyed again. “You got a problem with virgins, Dave?” he asked with his mouth full of something. 

“Not in the slightest.” I could hear Dave smirking as he said that. “I was one myself for seventeen years.” Jordan laughed mirthlessly. “How about you, Jordan? You got a problem with virgins?” 

I heard Jordan flop down hard in his desk chair. “If I did,” he said in a low voice, “I’d have a problem with myself.” 

Dave choked for a moment. “You? Really?” Since I couldn’t see either one of them, I wasn’t sure what was passing between the two of them. “What are you waiting for?” Dave finally asked. “The perfect moment? Trust me, Jordan, there’s no such thing as perfect.” 

“I know that.” 

“And your first time especially isn’t going to be perfect. It’s going to be weird and awkward and, quite possibly, messy. But you wouldn’t trade it for the world.” 

“I know that, too.” Jordan didn’t sound irritated anymore. “It’s just…you don’t know Haley, Dave. We’re waiting until we’re ready. And if we can’t even figure out how to sleep in the same bed without trying to kill each other, we’re not ready.” 

“Fair enough,” Dave said. I heard him grab his school bag. “I’m going to One World for coffee before class. Want in?” 

“Hell, no,” Jordan replied. The two of them chuckled, whatever awkwardness that had passed between them gone. “See you tonight, Dave.” 

Dave stopped in the doorway. “Colette’s going home for the weekend…Jessica invited me to her place, starting tonight. You cool with that?” 

“Yup.” 

“Feel free to use my bed if you need to. See you later, Jordan.” 

Jordan headed back toward the fridge and I pretended to stir, waking up. “Morning,” I said groggily. That part wasn’t faked. 

“Morning, sunshine,” he replied. He swept over me and kissed my forehead. “Sleep okay?” 

“It would have been better if I’d been with you,” I said, and I wasn’t completely lying. I liked falling asleep with his arms around with me, listening to his steady, even breathing. I think we would have been okay if the bed were just bigger. 

He smiled. “Don’t make plans for tonight, okay? I want to take you out somewhere. I won big at poker a few weeks ago and I saved every penny for tonight. Dave’s going to be out for the rest of the week, so it’ll just be us. I want to give you a night you won’t forget.” 

I closed my eyes again as Jordan gathered his school bag and an energy bar and headed out the door. As soon as he left, they popped back open. What exactly did Jordan mean by that? He wasn’t upset about Dave’s comments, was he? I might be more secure and less afraid about things, but I wasn’t ready for sex. I thought Jordan understood that. I found a panic rising in my throat. 

I guess I was just going to have to wait for tonight. 

*** 

‘Tonight’ came faster than I expected. I ate lunch with Jessica, but I was quieter than normal. I know Jessica noticed, because she kept giving me weird looks. Every time she started to say something about it, she shook her head and instead talked about the kids she was working with. 

Dave was free, starting about an hour after Jessica left for class, so he took me to the gym. I’m not much of one for working out, but I played in the shallow end of the pool while he swam laps. Doing stretches and yoga moves took my mind off the evening for a little while. 

After that, he had to run off to something or another, so I was alone in the dorm again. I sat in Dave’s chair in front of the television. I flipped stations for a while before I found a channel full of reruns. I watched without seeing for a while, letting worry grip me. I was still doing that an hour later when Jordan came home from his afternoon class. “Are you ready to get ready?” he asked me. 

I shook my head, clearing it. “Jordan…” I said slowly as I turned the television off. 

He didn’t seem to hear the lack of enthusiasm in my voice. “We’re going to this really awesome Mexican restaurant,” he said as he dug around in the closet. “After that, we have some choices for what we can do, and I’ll leave it all to you.” He came out with a pair of slacks and button down shirt, the same ones he wore to my birthday dinner three months before. “We can go to the movies, or there’s probably still tickets to _Romeo and Juliet_ , or we…” 

Jordan was still talking, but I was watching him more than listening. He had swapped out an oversized blue t-shirt for the fresh shirt, and now he was undoing his pants. He’d done the same thing the night before when he’d dressed for bed, but that was before he’d made the comments he made earlier. “Jordan!” I exclaimed again. This time, he looked up from his pants, startled, but I had his attention. I was going to spill everything to him, but seeing him there, so surprised, I didn’t tell him I’d listened in on his conversation. “I didn’t bring any nice clothes,” I replied lamely instead. 

He smiled. “Well, let’s fix that. I’ll buy you a dress or something.” 

I stood up from the chair and sighed. “You don’t have to do that,” I insisted. 

“But I want to. Let me do this for you.” He’d pulled on his trousers and now he was doing up his belt. “Please.” 

I looked at him and I knew he was completely sincere. I wasn’t sure why he was so serious about it, but I couldn’t deny him the pleasure. “Okay,” I finally replied. “But you can only buy me a dress if you let me buy you a new shirt.” He started to protest, but I stood beside him on my tippy toes and put my hand on his mouth. “Fair is fair, Jordan.” 

He pulled my hand off his mouth, but he was smiling. “Yes, but I don’t need a new shirt,” he complained. 

I laughed; I’d heard him have the exact same conversation with his mother several times. “You do, too,” I insisted. He still had my right hand by the wrist, so I put my left hand on _his_ wrist. “You’ve grown two or three inches this year. Your shirt is far too short.” 

He blinked at me for a moment and then stared at his naked wrist as if he’d never seen it before. “I have, haven’t I?” he said after he thought about it. 

“Yup.” He and his brothers were a little old for growth spurts, but then again, they had hit puberty pretty late. “If I had to guess, I’d say you were taller than Nick now.” 

Jordan let my wrist go. “Okay, then, you can buy me a new shirt.” 

*** 

There was a little mall on the way to the restaurant, and we had an hour before our reservation. I assumed Jordan would be fast and easy-going when it came to picking out a shirt, and I was right. He told me the size of his other shirt and let me pick out a shirt for him in the next size up; I found a blue one that matched his eyes. Then we searched the casual dresses until I found a sundress in my size that was only a few dollars more than his shirt. It was lavender and made of a comfortable t-shirt material. I changed into my dress in the bathroom while Jordan just swapped shirts in the hallway right outside. I guess being a guy has more benefits than no PMS. 

The restaurant was good. Mexican is Jordan’s favorite, and I enjoy a good enchilada or two. He was in a bubbly mood, chatting on about a project he was working on in macroeconomics (whatever _that_ is) until our food arrived. In the Pike family, it’s normally a free-for-all at dinner time, so I’m used to both By and Jordan starting off a meal by stuffing their faces. I watched him cram a taco in his mouth before I started speaking. “Jordan?” 

“Hmm?” he answered, his mouth full. He looked up from his food and saw my face. His expression clouded over and he put his fork down. “What’s the matter, Haley?” 

“Nothing,” I said, my confidence in what I had to say wavering. He furrowed his brow, knowing something was bothering me despite my denial. I changed tactics. “Remember what you said about following me?” I asked him. 

He cocked his head to one side as he reached for my hand. “Oh yeah, going to Africa, right?” 

“Yeah,” I said, smiling faintly at the memory. “Well, what if I decided to follow you instead?” 

Jordan looked confused. “What, to class or to practice or something?” 

I shook my head. “No, not like that. I’m talking about following you somewhere you’ve already been. Somewhere you’ve been for a while now.” 

His eyes went wide. “Haley. Are you trying to tell me that you…that you’re…” He faded out twice. 

I finished his sentence for him. “Going to be a Gator? Yup.” 

I let go of his hand and picked up my fork, ready to actually start eating my enchilada, but I wasn’t going to get the chance. Jordan was too animated and enthusiastic to let that be the end of the conversation. “If we weren’t in a restaurant right now, I’d scream for joy at the top of my lungs.” 

I smiled; that was a better response than I’d hoped for. “ _That_ would be a sight,” I told him with a giggle. 

“Oh, honey, you have no idea how good this news is!” He was practically crowing, and he was definitely a smidge too loud for the quiet restaurant. People were staring. “Have I told you how much I love you?” 

“Yes, but feel free to remind me.” 

Jordan looked around and realized how many people were looking at us. He lowered his voice. “You have no idea,” he repeated. “I was picturing another so many years of the two of us living in different states, trying to schedule phone time and visits like this, with different breaks and no money, and I just wasn’t sure how long I could take that.” 

I blushed a little bit; he was planning how our relationship would go for years to come. “Yeah, well, happy anniversary,” I told him. 

Jordan had just picked his fork back up, but when I said that, he put it back down. “Oh, my God,” he said after a moment. “It is our anniversary, isn’t it?” 

I laughed. “Well, it depends on how you want to count it. If you want to count from the day we kissed, it’s today. If you want to count from when I said I’d be your girlfriend, we’ll have to wait until Saturday.” 

“Can we count from when you gave me a black eye instead? Nothing says ‘I love you’ like a punch to the face.” 

I buried my face in my hands but when I looked up, he was grinning at me. “You had that punch coming and you know it,” I teased. Jordan just shrugged, the grin never leaving his face. “You really didn’t realize it was our anniversary when you planned this?” I asked. 

“No. I was just celebrating you coming to visit me.” He reached across the table and put one hand on the side of my face. 

“I’ll forgive you this time,” I said, “but you’d better remember our next anniversary, or else.” 

Jordan’s eyes lit up when I said ‘next anniversary.’ “I promise,” he vowed. 

*** 

We didn’t wind up going to the movies or to see _Romeo and Juliet_ or any of Jordan’s other ideas. I wanted to do something where we could actually talk. So we just walked back to campus slowly, enjoying the night and each other’s company. I told him all about the cultural anthropology program and how excited I was about that. He laughed when I told him I was going to be a social scientist, but repeated it back lovingly. “My girlfriend, the social scientist,” he announced to a couple of birds that were prowling the street. 

As soon as we were in his dorm room, he drew me to him and gave me a long, deep kiss. “We’re finally completely alone,” he said into my hair when he released the kiss. 

I found that, out of reflex, I was nervous again. My heart was pounding, but I wasn’t sure why. All I needed to do was tell Jordan I wasn’t ready; he’d understand. “Jordan…” I began, for what felt like the hundredth time that day. 

It must have been smothered into his chest, because he didn’t hear me. “You were okay with everything we did on Monday, right?” he asked. “I didn’t move too fast for you or touch you anywhere you weren’t comfortable with, did I?” 

I relaxed. Jordan’s always telling me I need to talk more about what I like and how I’m feeling while we’re alone together. I have a hard time with that because sometimes it takes all my energy just keeping up with him. But if he was asking that, then he wasn’t assuming anything that was incorrect. I had just said the other night that I trusted him completely; how could I have forgotten that so quickly? “Monday was perfect,” I told him. “I wouldn’t change a minute of it.” 

He pulled back a little bit so he could see my face. He must have liked what he’d seen, because he smiled. “Good!” And then he kissed me again. 

I wiggled out of his grip. “I have an idea,” I said. “Let me change into my pajamas and then we can go up to your bed.” 

Jordan pouted. “I was hoping to slip that dress off of you,” he said, but he smiled a little as he said it. 

I was afraid I’d feel exposed if I let him undress me that much right away. I didn’t mind him being in his undershirt and boxers because I knew he slept that way and I also knew he wouldn’t take them off without asking first. “You’ll just have to keep fantasizing about that one,” I teased him. “I don’t want it to end up in a crumpled heap on your bed. But trust me, you’ll like slipping off what I put on instead.” 

I changed into my sexy outfit. I even found some lacy white panties to wear underneath. We’d agreed not to take off our pants, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t give him a peek. I took a minute to brush my hair before I returned to the dorm room. Charlotte had been right about the pajamas: Jordan’s eyes about popped out of his head. “Wow,” he said softly, as I stood in the doorway. I rubbed one hand up and down my arm as goose bumps appeared, but I wasn’t cold. It was just the way he was looking at me. “This is a new look for you,” he commented. 

“Do you like it?” I asked unnecessarily. He nodded, still staring. I ducked my head. “I felt like it was time for a change,” I added. 

Jordan took a couple of steps toward me. “Definitely bring that to school with you next year,” he insisted. 

I had to laugh at that. “Maybe by then,” I said hopefully, “we won’t need pajamas at all.” 

He grinned. “Come on up to the bed,” Jordan begged. “I was thinking last night after you fell asleep, and I want to show you an idea I had.” 

I followed him up the ladder as he smoothed out the bed for a moment. “Wait right there,” he instructed when I made it up to the top. I sat at the head of the ladder, watching Jordan. He lay down on the bed before he spoke again. “I think our problem, Haley, was that we were trying to sleep in the same bed, separately.” 

I laughed. “What?” 

“We were each trying to sleep by ourselves instead of together.” He beckoned to me and I scrambled over to meet him. He was lying on his back and he pulled me down, almost on top of him. He settled me in between his chest and his arm. I lay beside him at an angle, sort of on my side and sort of on my stomach. My head was on his chest and he wrapped his arm around my back. 

We lay silently for a moment as I listened to his heart beating. I had decided that was one of my favorite sounds in the world. “Think we can sleep like this?” I asked as I looked up at his face. 

“If we work together,” Jordan replied, “We can do anything.” 

That was exactly what I wanted to hear.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I fight with my mother and get a little kick start back towards sanity

Ct_yankee_fan_00: i miss you already, you know  
Je11y_6ean_h: yeah right. I know you’re enjoying having your bed back  
Ct_yankee_fan_00: maybe a little, but that doesn’t mean I like it better here without you. dave's just not as good a kisser as you are  
Je11y_6ean_h: I’m so not going to ask how you know that  
Ct_yankee_fan_00: well there was this case of beer and some mistletoe and a ten dollar dare….  
Je11y_6ean_h: sledgehammer of subject change. prom tickets go on sale tomorrow. you sure you’ll be home in time? i don’t want to buy us tickets if you’re not going to be able to go  
Ct_yankee_fan_00: i promise. school will have been out for a couple weeks by that point  
Je11y_6ean_h: I’m looking forward to you coming home way more than I’m looking forward to the prom. they picked ‘more than words’ for the theme. is that cheesy or what?  
Ct_yankee_fan_00: hey, I LIKE that song  
Je11y_6ean_h: of course you do. you’re pretty cheesy yourself

When I came home from my spring break adventure with Jordan, I thought maybe the rest of the school year would just sort of fly by. I mean, we’d been in school for twelve years and almost eight months already; those last couple of months should just zoom, right? 

And honestly, the school-part of my life did sort of fall into place then. I had a handle on my grades, which were fairly good, and for the first time all year, I felt like I actually _got_ trigonometry. I had thought, when I was younger, that if I could finally start to feel smart and capable at school, I might feel better about myself. I think Byron and his grade-o-mania had played a large part in that. But now that my GPA for the year was a solid 3.5, it seemed like everything else was falling apart. 

It had started on the way home from the airport. Mom had picked me up, even though she had told me in a text the day before that my father would be coming to get me. “He took Matt out for the day, for guy time,” she said, trying to sound light and airy about it. I was suspicious of this information for two reasons; first, Matt’s spring break was the week after mine, meaning that it was just beginning. Before I’d left, I’d been inundated by all sorts of crafty strategizing on Matt’s part: he’d wanted me to help him figure out some way for him and Lydia to get ‘alone time.’ I sincerely doubted he’d voluntarily spend one of his precious days off with Daddy. 

Then there was the way Mom said it; there was something she was clearly not telling me. I looked at her appraisingly. Was I being kidnaped into an evening of forced mother-daughter frivolity as well? With my mother, things like that are always a definite possibility. I decided to pretend to not be worried about it. “Sounds like fun,” I said, trying to mean it. 

“Your brother didn’t think so,” Mom blurted out. I checked her out from the corner of my eye. She had the same look on her face she had when I came home from school after dress rehearsal a few weeks earlier. It was the ‘you kids are slowly killing me’ face she gave us when we were annoying her, only multiplied by five. “He’s been locked up in his room for the last few days. He doesn’t want dinner and he definitely doesn’t want to talk about it.” 

“Talk about _what_?” 

“I’m not certain, but I think Lydia broke up with him.” Mom was drumming her fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music. She was listening to an ‘oldies’ station, although she’d wrinkled her nose as we were leaving the airport and asked the radio when the mid-eighties had become oldies. “I sincerely hope you’re feeling better than you were earlier in the month, because I can only deal with one teenage breakdown at a time.” 

I sighed. Mom was leaving me an opening, although I wasn’t sure exactly what she wanted. There were two distinct possibilities, as far as I could see: she could want me to talk about what had happened while I was in Florida…in graphic detail, given her unhealthy obsession with the sex I was or wasn’t having. More likely, though, given her lead in, she wanted to talk about what had happened that Thursday earlier in the month. I wasn’t ready for that. Not by a longshot. “Well, as long as he doesn’t come home one day asking for mental health assistance, I think you’re okay. I’m the only one having a breakdown.” 

Mom glanced at me as we barreled along down the highway. The day was drizzly and gray and threatening rain, and she couldn’t take attention off the road for too long. She didn’t like what she saw, though. I’d set my jaw firm and looked away, making it clear that poking and prodding would not be appreciated. She sighed. “Oh, Haley,” she said softly. “I just want to help you in any way I can.” 

“You can do that by letting it go,” I announced through gritted teeth. “I’m not ready to talk about it. I promise you, I’ll tell you someday. Not now, though.” 

“Okay, okay,” Mom said. She clearly didn’t believe that I’d ever actually share with her, and I could tell that depressed her more than anything else. We were quiet for a full song’s worth of silence before she spoke again. “Daddy and I were hoping to go to New York City next weekend, just the two of us. I’ve already told Matt that we’re dropping him off at Aunt Sandy’s while we’re gone, whether he likes it or not. I’m not coming home to find my home has been turned into a brothel again.” She snickered at her own comment, while I fought off the urge to roll my eyes. “Do you want me to call Dee Pike and see if you can stay there again this time?” 

I didn’t even stop to consider the possibilities. “Does the offer to let me stay home alone with a friend or two still stand?” I asked. That no longer felt like a scary option like it once had. Face down your rapist—even with help—and suddenly, the house creaking is no longer spooky. 

Mom was surprised. “Well, sure, honey,” she stuttered after a moment. “Who were you thinking you’d invite over?” 

I tipped my head to the side and looked at her for the first time since she’d started prying earlier. “Vanessa, Becca and Charlotte? We could have a slumber party Friday night and then one of them could come over after I get off from work on Saturday and spend that night, too.” 

She was still hesitating. “Doesn’t Vanessa have a boyfriend?” she finally asked sternly. “I don’t want any funny business going on in my house when I’m not there.” 

“She does,” I acknowledged. “And so Char. But the boys are not invited. Why would I want to watch the two of them cuddling with their boyfriends when mine’s a jillion miles away?” 

“Well, I was going to say that the guys could come over as long as they were respectful and observed the kinds of rules we expect Matt to follow in the house. But if that’s how you feel about it, okay.” She turned on the windshield wipers, frowning briefly at the rain. It was the kind of splatter that’s too light for the wipers—you just wind up with dirty smears and that horrid squeaking sound—but too heavy to see after a while if you don’t turn them on. Finally she glanced over at me. I was kind of irritated at her, not just for prodding at me earlier, but also for the sort of sarcastic way she said the last part. It was like she was mocking me for being a prude, and that was how I felt every. Single. Time. She brought up sex. Mom glanced at me as she turned the wipers back off and frowned. “Who would have thought that my eighteen year old would be a bigger hard ass about things than I am?” she said in what she thought was a lighthearted, facetious tone. 

It just made me more crabby. “Would you rather I went the other direction?” I asked, my arms crossed across my boobs. “I could have had two kids and a matching set of STDs by now, Mother.” 

It was the ‘mother’ that convinced her to back off. “No, honey, I wouldn’t. I’m actually proud of you for having standards and sticking to them. If you’d rather have a girls’ sleepover than a co-ed gathering while your father and I are gone, then that’s great. Honestly, one less thing for me to worry about…so I can focus on my bigger worries.” She reached over and tugged a little piece of my hair. “I love you.” 

I sighed. “I know.” Maybe that was part of the problem. Sometimes, I felt like she was smothering me. 

*** 

Mom had been right about Matt, on two counts. He did not want to talk about it…and ‘it’ definitely involved Lydia. I wandered into his bedroom before he got home that evening, hoping to catch a sense of how he was feeling without having to bother him. The photo of Matt and Lydia from their homecoming dance was gone; so was the crumbling boutonniere he’d put beside it on his dresser. Matt was always surprisingly tidy for a sixteen year old boy, but there were dirty clothes on his floor and he’d left his clean laundry sitting precariously on his desk. I sighed. I knew the signs of depression when I saw them, but I couldn’t tell how much of a funk my brother was in by his lack of tidiness. He could snap out of it quickly, like Jordan did, or spend weeks sighing and moaning, like Becca, or even go into an ‘emotional catatonia,’ which is what Charlotte had called Vanessa’s recent mood. Only time—and maybe a good chat, which I would be denied for a while—would tell. 

I had told Jordan when he left for his game that morning that I wouldn’t get a chance to talk to him that evening. I was going to want to go to bed early, first off, and then I also knew that my parents would expect me to spend time with them. Mom was just about finished making dinner—and I was just about finished setting the table—when Daddy and Matt came home. Matt stomped straight up the stairs and slammed his bedroom door behind him (he may not be able to hear the thud, but the vibration it causes is, apparently, equally satisfying), and Daddy sat down heavily in his chair. “How was your afternoon, dear?” Mom asked him. He sighed loudly and ran his hands through his hair, looking classically frustrated. “That good, hmm?” 

Daddy shook his head, either having nothing to say or not wanting to talk about Matt with me around. He gestured to me. “C’mere, Jellybean, and give your old dad a hug.” I stifled a sigh at the nickname and followed directions. He squeezed me tight and kissed my cheek. “Did you have a good time in Florida?” 

I smiled; Mom had never even asked about my trip. She’d been too busy trying to emulate my therapist. “Of course I did. The weather’s gorgeous, the campus is really beautiful, and Jordan’s friends are all nice.” 

“And how about Jordan himself? What’s he up to?” 

I sat down beside Daddy as Mom brought over a casserole not much different from the one I had cooked up for Jordan a couple days earlier. “He’s busy! He’s playing ball and his GPA is even higher than mine. I couldn’t be more proud of him.” 

“Attaboy,” Daddy said, pulling out the crossword puzzle from the Sunday paper and studying the half-finished clues. “Anyone know a six-letter word for ‘classless?’” he asked, scouring the paper. 

“Roger!” Mom scolded, half fondly, half exasperated. 

“Not enough letters,” Daddy replied, as if she were talking about his clue instead of his relentless need to ignore us at meal time by hiding behind a puzzle. 

Mom shook her head. They’d had basically the same conversation every Sunday for the past couple years. She turned to me. “Haley, go get your brother and tell him it’s time for dinner.” 

“Don’t bother,” Daddy said, reaching out an arm to prevent me from getting up. He didn’t even look up from his paper. “He already told me he’s not eating with us. I couldn’t even get him to eat a greasy, calorie-filled burger earlier today.” Mom made an unhappy noise. “Forget it, Carolyn. The boy will eat when he’s hungry. Honestly, considering he just got dumped by his first girlfriend, I think he’s doing pretty well.” 

We ate pretty quickly and without much chatter. Mom made sure my homework was done—she’ll probably call me in college every night and make sure I’m keeping up with my studies—and then dismissed me, saying it was Daddy’s night to clean the kitchen. I found myself with unexpected free time. I flopped down on the couch in the living room, just out of sight of my parents, but they apparently thought I’d gone upstairs. “What are we doing wrong?” Mom asked Daddy quietly. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Our children, of course. Matt’s moping around like the world’s about to end, like he has a depression no one can ever match. He’s eaten two bowls of cereal and nothing else this whole weekend. He might waste away to nothing. And Haley…well, who knows what’s the matter with her. She covers well most of the time and hides behind a mask, but I get the feeling that there’s something really bothering her, Roger.” 

Daddy sighed. “Matt will get past this. Eventually. Remember when you were a teenager and some boy broke _your_ heart? I certainly remember that first girl who dumped me. And if he’s still acting this way in a couple weeks, we’ll see if Haley’s therapist has group rates.” Mom was, it seemed, actually the one doing the dishes. She slammed something down on the counter, apparently not finding Daddy’s comment funny. “Calm down, Carolyn. Haley’s okay. She may not be confiding in us, but how much do you want to bet that both Byron and Jordan know exactly what is bothering her? And she _is_ in therapy. She knew enough to ask for help before things got out of her control entirely.” They both moved into my vision, although they didn’t seem to notice I was there. Daddy put his arm around Mom…who was crying. “Look at it this way. We have two children. They’re both alive. Neither of them is on drugs, or in jail. We’re a lot luckier than a lot of other parents.” 

I crept away, hoping they didn’t notice that I’d been eavesdropping. I’d known Mom was upset about what was going on, and that I wouldn’t tell her more. She’d been unhappy when I’d gone to therapy the first time and she hadn’t even been allowed in the room. I wasn’t trying to difficult; for once, this wasn’t just me being stubborn. I honestly felt that saying the words ‘I was date raped’ to my mother would be the last push to send me completely over the edge. Hopefully, time and therapy would make it possible, but I did worry that, by then, my mother would be just as nutty as I was. 

*** 

Becca sent me a text message just before I went to bed that night. It read: Hola, Haley! Can you pick me up tomorrow morning? Lots of stories to tell. Missed you like crazy! Bec. I found myself chuckling, relaxing for the first time all night. Not only did it sound like Becca had had a good time on the six-person campout she’d been dreading, but she’d also signed her text message with my nickname for her. The only way I could have been more tickled is if she’d addressed me as Hay. 

I was a little early getting to her house the next morning, but I just had to get out of the house. Mom still hadn’t gotten the hint that she needed to back off. I’d tried to bite my tongue and leash in the urge to tell her where to go—she was my mother, after all, and she meant well—but in the end the only way I could prevent a scene was to leave. 

Becca came running out when I honked my horn. She’d done her hair up in cornrows before break started, and they were still in place. It was a little flashier than she usually did her hair, but it looked good on her, especially because she’d paired it with a dazzling smile. “Hey!” she called through the open passenger window. “Thanks for the ride. How was Florida?” 

I smiled as the beads at the end of her cornrows whipped behind her, making a clacking sound. “Florida was fine. Jordan, on the other hand, was fabulous.” 

She laughed. “Please tell me you didn’t tell your parents that.” 

“Are you kidding me? I told my parents that Jordan and I spent our evenings playing quiet games of chess and our nights in separate rooms.” 

Becca tossed her backpack and flute into the backseat and then climbed in the front. “Seriously?” 

“Naw,” I said with a grin as I backed out of her driveway. Becca’s pretty gullible sometimes, and I wasn’t sure if she was joking or actually asking. “My mom’s pretty sure that Jordan and I do all kinds of kinky things when she’s not around. Even though I told my parents I was staying with Jordan’s roommate’s girlfriend, she rolled her eyes when I said that. Luckily, though, she hasn’t asked too many details. If she’s got it built up in her head that the week was a sex-romp, she’d probably be disappointed to find out that the closest I’ve come is seeing Jordan in his boxers.” 

“More than I’ve ever seen,” Becca commented. I looked over at her and it was as if her mood had spun around without warning. I can’t figure out why Becca thinks it’s a horrible thing that she’s never had a boyfriend. As Vanessa and I had once established, life is so much simpler when you’re single. I suspect that Becca’s read too many romantic books—not romance novels full of sex, mind you, but boy-meets-girl-they-encounter-conflict-but-pull-through type stories. Then there’s the fact that she’s convinced that everyone else is doing it and she’s the only person in the history of the world to make it to age sixteen without being swept up in some grand romance. 

I thought a change of subject might be a good idea. “How was your camping trip?” I asked. 

She lightened up. “A lot better than I expected. I thought that building a fire and cooking outside was going to be terrible, but the guys really got into it.” She shifted in her seat. She was wearing a short-sleeved blouse with a knee-length skirt—that wasn’t her dressing up or anything; she really just likes skirts. “Man, we should have had P with us that time we were stuck on that island. He would have been able to build a raft that we all could have escaped on.” 

I smiled. I hadn’t thought about being stranded on an island in years until Jeff had brought it up last summer, but apparently both he and Becca reminisced about it on a regular basis. I wondered if the two of them had seen each other since and made a mental note to bring them together over the summer. “Can P also build a radio out of coconuts?” I asked facetiously. 

“Huh?” Becca apparently didn’t get the reference. “I dunno, but he can light a fire without matches. It took him about two hours, but it earned him twenty bucks from Kenny and Bill.” 

“And what about Kenny?” In contrast to Becca’s lightweight spring attire, I was wearing a long sleeved shirt and a jacket, which I zipped up as we sat at a stop sign outside the school. “Did the two of you wind up sharing a tent?” That had been Charlotte’s one goal for the trip, although I suspect it had less to do with trying to hook Becca and Kenny up and more to do with meaning that she and Bill could sleep in the other tent together. 

She made a vomit-face, her tongue sticking out of her mouth. “Haley!” she chastised. I shrugged; did she really expect less than nosiness out of me, of all people? “Charlotte and I shared a tent, thank you very much. Kenny’s nice, but I’m not going to sleep with—even just literally—some guy I just met.” 

“That’s fair enough,” I swung into the parking lot and found one of the parking spots in the very last row, as far away from the school as it’s possible to get. It bugs Becca when I do that, but I park in the same parking spot every single day, because otherwise I forget where I parked my car. We were still early enough that we had plenty of time to chat before we went in. “How was Vanessa? Did you manage to coax her out of her tent part of the time?” 

Becca’s expression was pained as she opened her car door. I was already digging in the back seat, hoping I’d remembered to pack my lunch. “Yeah,” she finally said after a moment, but it was an evasive agreement. “I mean, she begged off a few activities at first, but P managed to convince her to go hiking or help cook most of the time. She still seemed to be moving more slowly and be less…enthusiastic…than normal, but I think she’s improving.” 

‘Enthusiastic’ was not the word I normally wanted to use when dealing with Vanessa, but I knew exactly what Becca meant. She’d been less _involved_ in life since she’d gotten passed over for Vassar. I was just about to express my agreement with her assessment when my phone chirped. “Hey, Bec,” I called as I realized I’d left the phone in the front seat, in the console between the seats. “If I grab your flute, will you grab my phone and tell me who’s texting me at this time of the day?” 

I grabbed both Becca’s flute and her backpack as she screwed with my phone. I saw her eyebrows knit together and her expression was as if she’d just read my private diary. “It’s your mom,” she said hesitantly. 

I was paying less attention to her face than I should have been. “And what does she say?” 

“She wanted to remind you that your therapy session is at four today and not to be late.” 

I nearly dropped the flute before I regained my composure. Becca already knew I was nuts, so what was the harm in her knowing I was trying to fix it? “Ahh, Mom,” said, trying to force a chuckle to accompany my lighthearted comment. It sounded more like a cross between a groan and a burp. “I’m surprised that she didn’t also want to remind me what time school starts, so that I can get to class on time.” 

Becca took the hint—and her flute and bag. “No doubt. My mom likes to remind me to do stuff like take a shower and brush my teeth. It’s like she thinks I would be a disaster without her.” 

I eased my phone away from her and turned it off. “C’mon. Let’s get inside before Mom calls to remind me to eat lunch today.” 

*** 

Becca didn’t bring up that text message or my therapy again that week. She did, however, seem to be walking on eggshells around me. There were certain topics she was clearly avoiding, and others she brought up extremely carefully, as if she was afraid I might turn as moody as I had been earlier in the month or as flat and emotionless as Vanessa had been recently. I shook off the urge to tell her off because she was trying to help and I couldn’t have it both ways. I could either be annoyed with my mother for trying to get all of life’s answers out of me, or Becca for being extra careful with me…not both. 

One subject which we did discuss in detail was our all-girls’ weekend. Mom had insisted that, because Vanessa, Char and Becca were all minors, she had to speak to their parents and let them know I would be the only ‘adult’ in the house. Everyone had okayed it, mostly because Mom assured them that I was on board with it just being the four of us—no boys—and that I didn’t smoke, drink or go for debauchery. It wasn’t entirely true; I liked debauchery in small doses, but I wasn’t about to correct her when she was speaking so sweetly about me. 

I set a schedule for the weekend. Ms. Bellen—my therapist; she’d told me to call her by her first name but I just couldn’t do it—had told me at my Monday appointment that she wanted to see me again later in the week. I wasn’t a ‘two a week’ patient, she assured me, but she thought that one extra session might get the ball rolling. You could accurately use the words ‘evasive’ and ‘scared to death’ to describe my demeanor during my last session. I guess she figured the faster we got more comfortable with each other, the faster we could get to my problems, and I couldn’t really argue with that. 

In any case, the only appointment she was able to fit me in was the same time on Friday. It meant that the party didn’t get to start until five-thirty at the earliest, which was fine. I had a feeling that the longer you kept four sober teenaged girls together in one room, the more likely it would be that 911 would need to be called. 

Becca and Charlotte kept sending me text messages giving me suggestions. Vanessa’s parents weren’t about to spring for cell phones for that many kids, so she had to be content with other methods of annoying me. She inundated my email box with her demands. None of the suggestions was outrageous—most were just food preferences and questions about whether my house was equipped with this, that, or the other—but I quickly grew weary. “Look, people,” I’d finally replied to all three of them, “Here’s the deal. If you want something but you’re not sure we have it here, just bring it yourself. We have plenty of snack food, including chips, ice cream and popcorn, and nachos for dinner. If you have something else you’d like to eat or an activity you’d like to do, bring it along.” 

Little did I realize this might come back to haunt me. 

Despite the minor annoyances, the next week went by pretty quickly. My mother laid out a whole list of rules that she actually wrote on a poster board with marker and stuck to the fridge Wednesday night. “Mu-ohm!” I’d exclaimed when I’d come down for dinner and seen _that_. “Do you think I have no sense at all?” 

Mom swatted some hair out of her eyes. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Haley,” she said, but she didn’t finish the thought. 

I read down the list, paying more attention to that than to my mother’s spiel. “Really?” I asked as I saw that one of the instructions told me not to play with matches. 

Mom looked hurt a moment and I realized that she thought I was questioning her trust. “I’m sure your friends are all perfectly lovely girls, but I was a teenager once, too. I know it can be hard to remember how to behave when the pack mentality sets in.” 

“Honestly, Mom. Becca was over for dinner last month, and you didn’t have a problem with her then. And Charlotte? You remember what she was like when she was little, and now she’s not even seventeen and she’s already been accepted to _Harvard_. You don’t really picture her trying to peer pressure me into becoming a pyromaniac, do you?” 

Mom sighed, but she lightened up and smiled. “Okay, point taken. I guess this is like how it was last summer with you and Jordan. Prove to me that I can trust you and your friends and I’ll back off, okay?” 

Hadn’t I already proven that to her, time and time again? I had understood when she and Daddy had pulled this kind of crap when I started seeing Jordan, because I hadn’t dated in years and even then, Shea was so nervous around my parents that he wouldn’t even hold my hand in their presence. I stifled the urge to scream and dramatically tell my mother I hated her. I was too old for that kind of shit; it would have just proven the point she was trying to make. Instead, I sighed, sounding just exactly like Mom had a moment before. I am, apparently, very much my mother’s daughter. “Okay, Mom.” 

*** 

I excused myself from that precarious situation by offering to set the table, even though it was Matt’s turn. He was, as he had been for the rest of the week, hiding in his bedroom. I really didn’t blame him at that point. In fact, I was beginning to suspect that he was faking or playing up his depression to avoid Mom’s enthusiastic over-parenting. That way, he could hide in his room, eat (or not eat) on his own terms, and pretty much do whatever he wanted during his spring break. 

If that was true, it was only working because Mom was more worried about me than about him. Luckily for me, she didn’t get too much of a chance to openly fret about me to my face before she and Daddy left for New York. Unfortunately, this wasn’t nearly as good as it sounded; I did something that provoked a whole different emotion in her instead. 

I don’t usually come home in the brief time period between school and work. It’s not worth it, because by the time I settle in, I have to leave again. But Thursday I needed something I had left sitting on my bed. I left myself a few minutes to run up the stairs, grab the CD and a snack and run back out again. I hadn’t planned on speaking with Mom, if she was even home. 

Obviously, Mom had different plans. She was sitting on the couch with a postcard in her hands as I rushed through. “Hi Mom,” I called, waving my car keys at her. “No time to talk. Just gotta pick something up and run.” 

I thundered up the stairs without waiting for a response, but Mom was right on my tail. “Haley Louise Braddock,” she boomed from the bottom of the steps. I stopped in my tracks outside of my bedroom door. Generally, ‘Haley Louise’ is followed by ‘you’re grounded.’ I’d never heard my mother call me by all three names before, but I knew it couldn’t be good. “Get back down here and explain this letter from the University of Florida thanking you for filling out your enrollment packet.” 

Oh, shit. I’d been putting off telling my parents because I knew they wouldn’t be happy. I had a lot of reasons for choosing to go to Florida, but they were going to skip over my whole list and go straight to ‘be closer to Jordan.’ Mom approved wholeheartedly of my dating Jordan and even visiting him for spring break, but even though my parents had never said so, I knew they’d feel like I was throwing my life away and blindly following a boy. 

I opened my door and grabbed the CD. Mom was blocking my path down the stairs, actually holding one arm out so I couldn’t bypass her. “When exactly were you planning to tell us about this?” she asked, waving the letter in front of her. 

I came to the top of the stairs so I could see her better. “As soon as I got the letter,” I answered honestly. I figured it would be easier to tell them what I’d done once it was impossible to undo it. 

“Don’t be a smart aleck,” she replied. Obviously she thought I was trying to make light of the situation. 

I was losing my patience. “Look, Mom. You told me I was an adult. You told me I could make my own decisions. So I did that.” Mom’s expression changed from angry to hurt in no time flat. “I don’t have time to discuss this; I’ll be late for work. But I’m going to Florida and you can’t stop me. You have no say over this,” I shouted. 

Now she was angry again, but she took two steps backwards and crossed her arms across her chest, folding my postcard in the process. “This isn’t over,” she warned. 

I’ll bet, I thought as I stalked past her. I was surprised she was even letting me through, but there was no way I was going to stick around to argue about it. I slammed the door behind me and ran out to my car, feeling a sense of dread growing in my stomach. I threw the car into gear and floored it, driving out of the neighborhood much faster than necessary. Once I was on my way to work, though, I slowed down. You can always tell when Jordan’s driving his car while he’s upset, because he goes faster than normal…and he’s got two speeding tickets to prove it. I really didn’t want to join him, because I figured I’d never see the light of day again if I added a speeding fine on top of everything else. I was going to be in hot water enough over Florida, but mouthing off to my mother was going to make this so much worse. I almost wished I’d just stayed home and dealt with her right away, just to get it over with. 

Times like this, when I’d said and done just the wrong thing, were the times I missed Byron the most. Sometimes, I felt like he was the only one able to knock any sense into me. 

*** 

I made it to work with two minutes to spare. Lexi was waiting for me in the break room, bouncing up and down. She was scheduled that day as an extra body so I could teach her how to run customer service. I took a deep breath when I saw her, put on my actress ‘fake-happy’ face I have to use some days just to make it through work and hung up my jacket on the coat rack. “Are you excited because you’re learning customer service today, or because of that stupid CD?” I asked as I handed the item in question to her. 

“Neither,” she said as she slipped the CD case in her purse and locked her locker. “Savanna picked me up at school today and we went out to eat before she dropped me off at work.” I raised my eyebrows as I fastened my name tag on my blouse. I’d figured the two of them would hit it off, but from the dreamy way Lexi was talking, this was a date, not a friend-meal. She confirmed that for me a minute later. “And guess what. She asked me to prom! Can you believe it?” 

“Hey, that’s amazing!” I said, catching her enthusiasm for real. I was actually really happy for her; she had been so quiet and unhappy when she’d started work that seeing her smiling and blushing now made me forget about Mom, or at least push her to the back of my mind. “I’ll be there too, and so will Charlotte and Vanessa and hopefully, Becca. You can meet my boyfriend and depending on the table sizes, you guys could sit with us.” 

We clocked in and started heading up to the counter. “You’ll save me a dance, won’t you?” Lexi said with a wink. 

She was only kidding, but I replied seriously. “Sure! And we can get a GSSA-and-date group photo taken, because we’re all a bunch of hotties.” 

Lexi giggled. “You know, that’s basically what Savanna said.” We reached the counter and the day help gave us a couple of notes and then left. Lexi picked up right where she’d left off. “She also said that she and I were destined to meet, because we’re going to be famous someday and have one of those couple names. You know, like Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt are Brangelina? Only we’re going to be called…Sexi.” 

I was still chuckling about that when the phone rang. “Thank you for calling Kitchen  & Bath in Stoneybrook Corners. This is Hay; how can I help you today?” 

“You can start by cutting the formal crap,” the very-familiar voice on the other end of the line said jovially. 

“By!” I exclaimed, feeling happy for real for the first time all day. Sometimes I think he can hear me thinking about him. “What did I do to deserve this honor?” 

“As much as I love speaking with you, I didn’t actually call for you today. Is Jason there?” 

I shook my head even though he couldn’t see it, wishing he hadn’t said that. “Jason got promoted; he’s now the district manager. But Shari’s our new store manager. I think she’s still here for a few more minutes. What’s up?” 

“Well,” he began, “Jason had said I could come back and work with you guys again this summer. Think there will be an opening for me?” 

“I’m sure Shari can find you something. Let me get her for you.” I paged Shari and watched as the line was picked up, then turned back to Lexi. “My best friend,” I explained. “He and his boyfriend both worked here last summer, and it looks like he wants to come back. Why, I’m not sure.” 

Lexi shook her head, amused, and I buckled down to teaching her the duties for the counter. We’d only made it about five minutes when the phone rang again. I’d just finished showing her how to answer it and page, so I let her answer. “Thank you for calling Kitchen & Bath in Stoneybrook Corners. This is Lexi; how may I help you?” She was silent for a moment as her brow furrowed, and she used her spare hand to push hair out of her face. “Of course. Please hold.” She turned to me, confused, and I thought she’d had her first encounter with one of those customers who wants you to find something based upon the vaguest of descriptions. Instead, she said, “It’s for you.” 

I took the phone off hold cautiously. No one ever actually called me at work. “Thank you for holding. This is Hay.” 

“Haley?” His voice was softer than normal, as if he were trying not to let someone else hear him. “It’s your father.” 

Of course I knew it was him. “Hi, Dad,” I said, a little embarrassed. I had the feeling he was going to yell at me in front of my trainee. 

“I just had a very interesting talk with your mother,” Daddy continued. He has this way of beating around the bush that I think is just designed to up the squirm factor. “She’s rather upset, you know.” 

“Yeah, I know.” 

“Well, when you come home tonight, I’d like to speak with you. Just you and me, of course. I’d like to hear your side of things before I decide whether I’m going to join her or not.” I breathed a sigh of relief. If he meant that, I might actually be able to get through to him. “Leave about fifteen minutes for me tonight before you go to sleep, okay?” 

“Okay, Daddy.” 

“Love you, Jellybean. Have a good night at work.” 

When I clicked off the phone, Lexi was helping a customer. I stepped up behind her to teach her the right way to make a return, and for the next ten minutes we worked steadily before we had a break in the customers. “I couldn’t help but overhear that phone call,” Lexi said, focusing on the task in front of her as well as her words. “You looked really upset when you were on the phone earlier. Want to talk about it?” 

I sighed. I didn’t, really. In fact, I wanted to forget about it all together. “Let’s just say there’s a fair chance I’ll be in deep doo-doo when I get home,” I finally summarized. If Daddy was on my side after our talk, he’d eventually bring Mom around with him. If he wasn’t, then… 

Lexi sighed on my behalf and I attempted a half-hearted smile. “I have a question for you,” I asked, to change the topic. “How exactly are you going to slip prom past your parents without them knowing what you’re up to?” She’d told me that her parents weren’t accepting and she wasn’t planning to tell them she was a lesbian any time soon. Plus, from some other comments she’d made, they seemed to be even more overprotective than mine were. 

Lexi’s eyes went wide, and that’s what we talked about for the rest of the night. 

*** 

Both Matt and Mom were asleep by the time I got home that night…or at least, just hiding in their rooms. Daddy was sitting at the kitchen table, doing some last minute paperwork. He and Mom were leaving first thing in the morning, taking a backwards route to drop Matt off in Rhode Island first. I set my purse down on the couch and walked into the doorway, feeling my anxiety level rise. I noticed that someone had taken down the list of rules for my weekend alone and suddenly I feared that my parents were going to drag me off to Aunt Sandy’s with Matt. 

Daddy didn’t look up from his papers, but he spoke. “Sit,” he said, pointing at my usual chair. I followed directions and sat there feeling paralyzed and voiceless for a while as he finished whatever it was he was writing. Finally he looked up. “So,” Daddy began again, eyeing me for the first time since I’d come home. He was all business now. “University of Florida. Why did you choose to apply there? I’d like to hear all your reasons.” 

I took a deep breath, trying not to sound scared. I wasn’t afraid of my father, but I _was_ worried about saying the wrong thing and losing my parents’ support entirely. “I want to study anthropology,” I said, my voice still a little unsteady. “I want to know how society works and understand people better.” I looked up at Daddy, but he was completely expressionless. I think he looks the same way at the people he supervises at work right before he fires them. “So I researched the best schools to study that and then talked to recruiters at that college fair back in October. I decided I liked Florida best because the weather is nice there and, yes, because Jordan goes there.” I hadn’t been planning on saying the last bit, but Daddy had said he wanted to hear _all_ my reasons. 

Daddy sat silently for a moment. “When you combine all that, you have a solid logical reason for wanting to go to a school. I approve of your college selection.” He let his glasses fall down his nose and looked at me over the top. “What I don’t approve of, young lady, is you lying to your mother and me by omission.” I cringed when he said that. Daddy calling me young lady is the same as Mom calling me Haley Louise. “Why didn’t you just say all this to your mother and me back when you were applying to schools? Or when you first learned you’d been accepted?” 

I hung my head and mumbled a little bit. “Because I was afraid that you’d just hear ‘blah blah blah’ Jordan,” I admitted. 

He nodded curtly. “All the same, telling us and accepting whatever consequences may have come from that would have been the adult thing to do. Your mother and I may not always agree with your choices, but we love you very much. As long as you live in this house, you _will_ keep us informed about decisions you are making. That’s non-negotiable; do you understand?” 

I nodded, my head still hanging. Daddy sat silently for a while, shuffling papers around and then stacked them up in a pile. He wasn’t done with me, because he hadn’t dismissed me. And, I realized, I wasn’t done with him. “Daddy?” I asked timidly. He looked up from his stack, his glasses still at the end of his nose. “I don’t want to be difficult, but I’m not ready to talk about certain things.” 

“Certain things,” he said, emotion creeping into his voice for the first time all evening. He sounded exhausted and a little nervous. “Certain things, like what happened a couple weeks ago that made you so upset that you came home and went straight to bed?” I nodded. “That’s fair, Haley. Thank you for being honest about that, and I will try to get your mother to back off…as long as you agree to sit down and speak with her on other, non-taboo issues. And apologize for your attitude earlier today.” 

I gulped back some frustrated tears that were forming in the back of my throat. “Am I grounded?” I asked. 

Daddy pushed the glasses back up his nose. “No, you are not,” he stated. “You’re really too old to ground. You have your own car and are, technically, an adult, even if you don’t act like one all the time. If I grounded you, you could just leave anyway, and I couldn’t do a thing about it. But I expect better out of you next time, okay?” I nodded again, not sure quite what that meant. It wasn’t like when he used to say, ‘Don’t hit your brother,’ or ‘Make sure you’re home by curfew,” which let me judge whether I was meeting his standards or not. “You’d better go off to bed,” Dad continued, dismissing me as usual. “Get a good night’s sleep and enjoy your weekend with your friends.” 

He hit that last phrase hard and I realized that this weekend was going to be a test. If I could behave myself and they came home to a house that hadn’t burned to the ground (or, in Mom’s words, been turned into a brothel), I’d be on much better terms with Daddy…if not with Mom. 

I wasn’t worried about it. But maybe I should have been. 

*** 

My family was gone by the time I woke up in the morning. It was eerie getting ready for school with no one else home, but I found I enjoyed it. I sang loudly in the shower and turned the stereo on while I was eating breakfast. I went to school determined to forget the fact that I had to have a showdown with Mom on Monday. (I didn’t want to think of it that way, but I just couldn’t change my own mind.) 

I gave Becca a ride home after an extremely long school day. “What time does the party start?” she asked me idly as we cruised the back streets of Stoneybrook. “JP has a soccer game today at five, and I really don’t want to go. The games at his skill level are so boring.” 

Everyone used to call Becca’s brother Squirt, but these days he was built like a linebacker. I could picture him body checking the other players—completely on accident, of course. “Would you want to watch if it were guys our age?” I asked her as we pulled up to a stop sign. Becca’s never been one for sports, either playing or watching. 

“If there was a chance they might be shirtless, then yes.” 

Honestly, sometimes I think Becca is more boy crazy than the rest of my friends put together. If she weren’t so shy, she’d be quite the flirt. I looked over at her and smiled, shaking my head. She laughed. “Anyway, come over any time after five thirty. I’d love to be able to have you come over before that, but I probably won’t get back from my therapy appointment until then.” 

Becca went quiet and fidgety and I sighed. “Let’s not have this be an elephant in the room that no one can talk about. You know I’m crazy; I know I’m crazy. Let’s not pretend otherwise.” 

We pulled up her driveway and I turned the car off, looking at her garage door in front of me rather than at her. “No,” she said firmly. “I do _not_ know that you’re crazy. You seem to be the only one who thinks you’re crazy, girlfriend.” 

I took my feet off the brake pedal and pulled both onto the seat in front of me, resting my knees on the steering wheel. She wasn’t the first person to say that: I’d heard it from at least three Pikes before. And it was exactly what my therapist had said all through our first session together. “Maybe someday, I’ll actually believe that,” I said into the interior of the car. 

“Anyway,” Becca continued, reaching out to squeeze my arm, “even if you were crazy, I don’t know why people get so ashamed about having a psychologist. I mean, if your stomach hurts, you see a doctor. If your teeth hurt, you see a dentist. When your mind hurts, you gotta go somewhere.” I looked over at her and she squeezed my arm even harder, so much it nearly hurt. 

She was right about that; that was the reason I’d gone ahead and told her where I was going. “Think I should tell people my brain exploded?” I asked. 

Becca grinned. “Or that your mind is so complicated and advanced that professionals are studying it for future generations.” 

I actually smiled back. “I like that one.” She finally let my arm go. “What would I do without you, Becca?” 

Becca pretended to ponder that. “Go to Vanessa with your problems?” she suggested facetiously. 

Vanessa was sensitive in her own way, but she wasn’t exactly the most empathetic person on earth. Also, she was unpredictable: one minute you could have a real conversation and discuss your feelings with her; the next she was so sarcastic that I wanted to just hurl a brick at her. I couldn’t explain why I felt that way about her, because Byron could be the same way when he wanted to and it didn’t bother me nearly as much. “If I had to do that, my brain would have exploded for real a long time ago.” 

*** 

Vanessa may not have been my A-1 confidant those days, but she did sometimes—however inadvertently—know just the right thing to do or say. I’d gotten home from therapy even later than I’d expected, to find Becca walking over from Pike house, without any gear. Turns out she’d stashed it all beside my garage earlier. “I saw your car pulling up,” she explained. “I’d gone over to see if Vanessa was home, even though I didn’t expect her to be. I told Mama that your party started at five so that I didn’t have to go to the soccer game, you see.” I nodded; I would have done the same thing in her place. “Vanessa wasn’t in, but Nick cornered me and wouldn’t let me leave. He was asking me trig questions—he’s in my class, you know—but I don’t think that he really wanted my help studying. His grade in that class is even better than mine.” 

“Maybe he just likes you,” I suggested as I unlocked the back door. 

“Are you kidding me?” Becca countered, pretending to choke herself with one hand, her tongue sticking out of her mouth. “Yeah, right. Nick just likes flirting, and he wasn’t even doing _that_. I don’t know what his problem is.” 

“He’s a guy,” I said as I wearily set my purse down on the counter and then grabbed Becca’s sleeping bag off of her. I was as tired from therapy as I imagine I would be after a marathon. “He doesn’t need to have any more problems than that.” 

“Guy troubles?” Becca asked as she set down a cooler of snacks and her backpack on the floor. She leaned against the counter, her boobs pressed against it, one foot in the air behind her. It looked like a stretch her sister might have done for ballet. 

“Yeah, sorta.” I sat down backwards in one of the kitchen chairs and watched her put her foot back down, arching her back like a cat. “Only not the guy you’re thinking of. He’s still fabulous.” Becca raised her eyebrows, not sure how to proceed after that statement. I changed the subject. “So where was Vanessa, if she wasn’t at home?” 

“The Rosebud, of course. She and Charlotte couldn’t come spend the weekend here if they didn’t get some guy time first.” This was paired with an eye roll of epic proportions. Charlotte and Bill had been more careful with their time recently, but Becca was still pretty resentful of the power Bill had over Charlotte. She checked her watch. “Knowing Vanessa’s awesome time management skills, they’re probably just leaving now.” 

I got out of my seat and hauled the cooler onto the counter. “Let’s make a bet. You think they’re leaving now, so let’s give them…ten minutes?” Becca nodded her agreement as I pulled a gallon of chocolate milk out and set it beside the cooler. “I’m going to say they’ll be closer to an hour. Whoever comes closer gets the last of the hot fudge on her ice cream.” 

“Deal!” 

This was about the only time I was happy to lose a bet. Charlotte and Vanessa showed up twenty minutes later—only thirty-five minutes after I’d told them to be there. By then, Becca and I were arranging the ingredients for tacos and nachos on the counter with music playing in the background. “Sorry,” Charlotte said as she carried three bags into the house. “We would have been here on time, but _someone_ decided we had to make a few stops along the way.” 

Vanessa was just as laden down when she followed just behind Char. “Sure,” she said as she tossed her overnight supplies on the floor by the door to the basement. “Blame everything on me. Everyone always does.” 

Charlotte narrowed her eyes at Vanessa, but she was smiling. “If I’d been on my own, I would have been on time,” she insisted. 

“She’s got a point, there,” I said, grabbing the cold ingredients out of the fridge. Vanessa made a face, but I ignored her. “I know I told you guys to bring stuff if you wanted it, but I didn’t really expect this much. What all do you have there?” 

Charlotte was still holding one bag and she clutched it to her chest as Becca grabbed a bag Vanessa had dropped on the table. “My dad gave us some of his famous _pico de gallo_ and some hot peppers, if anyone is up for those,” Char said as Becca pulled out the jar of peppers. 

I wasn’t paying attention to what else was in _that_ bag. “Sounds good,” I said, never taking my eyes off the bag Charlotte clearly didn’t want to open at that moment. “What else?” 

“Oh, you know,” she said, starting to squirm, “We stopped at Jugtown and got some chips and snacks.” 

“And a whole lot of something you don’t want me to know about in that bag you won’t put down,” I observed. 

Becca’s interest was piqued. “Let me see!” 

Vanessa and Charlotte looked at each other before Vanessa spoke for both of them. “Later,” she said, trying to steer our interest back to the dinner we’d been laying out. “It’s a surprise, and you wouldn’t want to spoil it now, would you?” 

I let it drop and went back to the rest of the food, but Vanessa was bound and determined to get under my skin…which was already irritated from the situation with my mother and what had happened at my session earlier. She bumped her tush up on the counter—something I had told her wasn’t allowed in my house—and looked over the food. “Where’s the taco meat?” she asked. 

I shuddered. “I don’t like hamburger anymore,” I told her. “Even the smell of it cooking makes me want to throw up. So we’re not having any.” 

“Ooh, nauseous, huh?” Vanessa turned to Charlotte, who had tried to hide the secret bag in among her overnight supplies. “I told you she’d come back pregnant.” 

I had grabbed the pan of beans out of the oven and I nearly dropped it when she said that. It took me some time to steady the pan and also to figure out why I was so upset. Dave had made essentially the same joke while I was still in Florida and I’d barely even been annoyed by it. It wasn’t that Vanessa voice and attitude that was setting my teeth on edge, I decided. It was the fact that obviously, she and Charlotte had been talking about me behind my back. Char must have mentioned my refusal to get on birth control to Vanessa, hence her belief that I’d wind up pregnant. 

Everyone had seen me stumble with the pan, but no one mentioned it. I think they were waiting for me to snap about what I’d just heard. Instead, I put the pan on a potholder and took the oven mitts off my hands. “What about you, Vanessa?” I asked her drily. “Any chance you’ll be having a little baby P sometime soon?” 

I could tell Vanessa liked the comment as much as I’d liked hers. She jutted her hip out, a peeved expression on her face. “None. Absolutely none.” 

Charlotte grabbed a paper plate and Becca lined up behind her. “Now you know that’s not true,” Char said as she piled tortilla chips on her plate. “No birth control is one-hundred percent effective, so based upon the…noises…coming out of the tent you were sharing with P last week….” 

Becca started giggling and the three of them seemed to have forgotten my mood. I was completely okay with that, to be honest, because it meant there was no more talk about what Jordan and I had, or hadn’t, done. Vanessa was so annoyed by Char’s comment that she changed the topic to something I’d been wondering about myself: prom dresses. “What color is everyone wearing to prom?” she asked through a mouthful of taco. “I thought it might be a good idea to try to color-coordinate our outfits.” 

I shrugged. “I haven’t thought that far in advance,” I admitted. 

“You haven’t bought anything yet?” Char asked after wiping her mouth off. She was the only one of the four of us to put a napkin in her lap. “Prom is only a couple weeks away.” 

I hadn’t really been in the best state of mind for dress shopping recently, I thought to myself. “Nope,” I said aloud, then took a giant bite of nacho, letting some _pico de gallo_ fall back onto my plate as I did so. 

Char made a face at my sloppiness, but I was unapologetic. Nachos weren’t supposed to be eaten daintily. “I bought my dress three weeks ago,” she announced. “It’s black and white and pretty slinky.” 

Vanessa opened her mouth with a sly look on her face, then closed it. I guessed she thought better about making a joke about how easy such a dress would be to remove, given our earlier conversation about her sex life. “Mine’s silver and it’s all princessy.” 

“Princessy?” I repeated. “I don’t think that’s a real word.” Honestly, I was more interested in the fact that the words ‘princess’ and ‘Vanessa’ really didn’t go together. 

“It’s an accurate description, though. I had to find _something_ that would cover my Docs.” 

Charlotte rolled her eyes but said nothing against it. I had always figured that someday Vanessa would get married wearing her boots, so I was unsurprised. “What about you, Becca?” 

Becca looked up from the guacamole she’d made and was eating straight from the bowl with chips. “I’m probably not going,” she mumbled. 

Char, Vanessa and I shared a look. “Back up,” Vanessa said. “You promised you’d go to prom with us, and you’re not getting out of this. If I’m going to have to wear a big frou-frou dress, then so are you.” 

Becca was squirming. “I made that promise back at the beginning of the school year, and I thought I would have a boyfriend by now. I don’t want to go alone.” 

“Well, then,” Charlotte said thoughtfully, “we’ll just have to find you a date.” 

Becca cringed. Char seemed to love the idea of playing matchmaker, as this wasn’t the first time I’d heard her get all enthusiastic about such things. “Maybe that can wait for now,” I suggested as I picked at the mess on my plate with my fingers. “Instead, you guys can help me decide what kind of dress to buy.” 

*** 

By the time we wandered down to the basement with bowls of ice cream an hour later, Charlotte and Vanessa were trying to talk me into wearing something strapless. (Nothing provides a good distraction to the average teenaged girl better than a fashion question.) “There is no way I’m going strapless,” I insisted as I took a bite of ice cream. “Have you seen my chest? There’d be nothing to hold it up. Last thing I want is to flash the entire junior and senior classes with what little I’ve got.” 

Becca chuckled her understanding but Vanessa shook her head. “Strapless dresses were made for small boobs,” she stated. “I was going to wear strapless but I was afraid my girls would go wild.” Vanessa’s got a solid C-cup, and she gestured to her boobs as she spoke. 

Charlotte giggled. “What about a halter top, Haley? That might look good on you.” 

“Maybe,” I said with a sigh. I was tired of them discussing my figure, to be honest, but I had a feeling they’d go on for a couple more hours if I let them. 

Luckily, they were distracted by a short, sharp shriek instead. Becca had been lying on her side, looking at the prom issue of some teen magazine (and not trying to tell me what to wear), but now she curled up in a ball with her hands on her head, her hot fudge sundae precariously close to her braids. “What’s wrong, Bec?” I asked, setting aside my own dessert to lean closer to her. 

“Brain freeze,” she diagnosed, muffled by her arms and knees. 

Charlotte giggled. “You are such a drama queen, Becca,” she said. 

“I’ve got just the solution for brain freezes.” Vanessa jumped out of her seat and ran up the stairs. 

I don’t think I’d ever seen her run that fast before. “And what would that be, Nurse Pike?” I asked, amused. 

She didn’t answer that directly. “Hey, Charlotte, where did you leave that bag?” she called from the vicinity of the stairs. 

That’s when I figured out exactly what was in the bag. I sat up straight, forgetting Becca’s brain freeze, my boobs and even Vanessa’s idea that I could be pregnant. “You guys…” I said slowly, but my voice was drowned out by Vanessa. 

“Found it!” she cackled triumphantly as she came down the stairs carrying two bottles, one vodka, the other wine. 

Becca was still curled up on the floor, so she wasn’t paying any attention to what was going on around her. I wasn’t surprised that Vanessa wanted to get drunk, but it didn’t seem like the sort of thing Charlotte would be into. I turned to look at her, and my question was apparently obvious on my face. “P gave them to us,” she said, leaning back on the couch, her (miniscule) serving of ice cream melting beside her. “His parents keep a well-stocked bar and don’t really pay attention to what—or how much—is in it.” 

I leveled a glance at her. “Have you ever had a drink before?” I asked her curiously. 

Charlotte looked insulted. “Once or twice,” she said as Vanessa handed her the bottle of wine. “What about you?” 

“Once or twice,” I echoed. 

Vanessa set the vodka on the coffee table and unscrewed the top. “Only when Haley says that, she means it literally,” she observed. I looked from Vanessa to Charlotte and suddenly realized that drinking at P’s house was a regular activity for the two of them. They were just moving the venue this weekend. 

During all this, Becca had been slowly thawing out from her head ‘injury’. “You guys aren’t really going to drink all of that, are you?” she asked, sitting up from her seat on the floor. 

“Probably not all of it,” Charlotte asserted, “but most of it, yeah.” 

Becca looked over at me, waiting for me to speak. “No,” I said hotly. “We can’t do this here. I’m already on thin ice with my parents; I don’t need them finding out you two were drinking while they were out.” 

Vanessa sat on the arm of the couch next to my ice cream. “And how exactly are they going to find out?” she asked. “We’re not going to get so drunk that we lose control or anything. We’re just going to have a little extra fun. What’s the harm in that?” 

I sat there, feeling about seven years old for a moment. I didn’t want to be a party pooper, and to be honest, I was afraid that Vanessa and Charlotte would leave and find somewhere else to go if I said no. “Oh, alright,” I crabbed. 

Vanessa had been waiting for me to give in; she knows I can’t withstand peer pressure very long. “Great! I’m going to go get some glasses, a corkscrew and some orange juice.” 

I shook my head at her retreating back. “We’re out of orange juice,” I called. Vanessa stopped near the bottom of the stairs and gave me an incredulous look. “We’ve got apple juice and probably some V8, but that’s it.” 

She shrugged. “Okay, I’ll bring apple juice. And if that doesn’t taste good, I’ll just drink the vodka straight.” 

I didn’t doubt _that_. I picked a magazine off the table next to the vodka bottle while Charlotte began fiddling with the foil on the wine bottle. I was trying to avoid Becca’s eyes, because she looked hurt that I didn’t stand my ground. She watched as Vanessa returned with the items in question, her eyebrows knitting together when she realized that there were _four_ glasses. 

Charlotte saw the face and quit playing with the wine, which Vanessa then opened with enough skill for me to guess this wasn’t the first time she’d done that. “Are you drinking, Haley?” Char asked, picking up her ice cream to take a bite. I noticed she didn’t ask Becca and was grateful that no one was going to pressure her. 

All the same, I was kind of peeved. I pretended I didn’t hear the question. Vanessa shrugged at her and the two of them measured out their alcohol, with Vanessa adding apple juice to vodka and giving Charlotte a glass full of wine. The former took a sip of her concoction and sloshed it around in her mouth like she was some kind of alcohol expert. “Not bad,” she judged, drinking a little more before setting her glass aside. “Where’s my damn ice cream?” she asked. Becca pointed to the bowl on top of the entertainment center, and Vanessa snagged it and put it beside her drink. “You know what we should try next time?” she asked the room as a whole. “We should put the alcohol and ice cream in the blender together and make boozy milkshakes.” 

I flipped a page in the magazine. “No, thanks,” I said. 

Vanessa shrugged. “Suit yourself, but you’re missing out.” 

We put on 10 Things I Hate about You, a movie I’ve seen so many times I can quote large chunks of it. Luckily, so had the rest of my friends, meaning we were all quoting together. By the time the movie was over, Charlotte and Vanessa had had one drink a piece, and I was hoping that would be the end of it. But when I came back from putting our ice cream dishes in the dishwasher, they were pouring themselves some more. Becca was watching them closely, something Charlotte noticed. “Did you want some wine, Becca?” 

Becca shrugged. “I just kinda want to know what it tastes like,” she admitted. “I’ve never even had a sip.” 

Vanessa and Charlotte looked at each other, and I knew what was going to happen next. “Well, I’ll pour you a little at the bottom of the glass. You can try it out that way, but you won’t get drunk,” Vanessa said, doing just that. She put about an ounce of the white wine in the bottom of a drinking glass. “And if you like it, you can have some more. If you don’t, you can try the vodka.” 

Becca accepted the glass as if it were a bomb that might explode. She gingerly set it aside and Charlotte, knowing Becca wasn’t appreciative of the attention we were giving her, drew the focus back to the other side of the room. “Wine is really the most sophisticated of the alcohols,” she said, sloshing her glass around a little bit to let the wine ‘breathe.’ I knew she must have been copying someone she’d seen holding a wine glass. 

“‘Sophisticated’ my ass,” Vanessa mocked. “I don’t care about looking fancy as long as I get drunk.” 

I stopped paying attention to them as they debated the merits of various types of alcohol. Instead I pretended to be engrossed in an article about some movie heartthrob I didn’t find attractive and watched Becca out of the corner of my eye. She waited until no one else was watching before she took a tiny sip of her wine. It took her twenty minutes, but by the time Vanessa and Charlotte went up to put on their pajamas, she’d finished her glass. By then I'd tossed my magazine aside and we were gossiping about various classmates and teachers. “Haley,” Becca said as she eyed the wine bottle still sitting on the coffee table. I had been lying on my stomach on the couch and I rolled over to look at her. “Would it bother you if I had a little more?” 

“Nope.” I’d had the feeling that this was going to happen. “Live your own life, Bec. Make your own choices.” 

She smiled. “Great. I’m only going to have a bit, maybe about the same amount.” I watched her handle the bottle gently and I understood where she was coming from. I’d never had wine or vodka before either, and I had to wonder just a little. Becca poured a small measure of alcohol into her glass, just slightly less than had been in there in the first place. I saw exactly what she was doing; if Vanessa and Charlotte were paying less attention to her than I was—which was likely—then they would think she was still nursing that first little bit of wine. 

Becca set her glass aside and followed our friends upstairs to the bathroom, where I could hear shrieking and giggling. I had a feeling there would be a mess for me to clean up in the morning…and not just in the bathroom. I looked around the rec room and sighed. There were potato chips scattered on one part of the couch, because apparently that was the snack of choice for sophisticated wine drinkers. (Char was obviously a lot less tidy when she’d been drinking.) Vanessa had gotten a little ice cream on the carpet. Feeling exhausted, I went upstairs for a wet rag and blotted at the stain on the rug. When I was satisfied that the spot wouldn’t show, I tossed the rag aside and sat down next to the wet mark. Sitting on the floor there, I was eye level with the bottle of vodka. And remember what I said about peer pressure? 

When Vanessa came back down a few minutes later, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, I had my glass half full of alcohol. She dropped her sleeping bag on the floor and sat on the arm of the couch, leaning forward so that her elbows were on her knees and her face was planted on her fists. Her hair was loose, hanging over her right shoulder, and she was just watching me. 

I wasn’t really paying attention to her, though. I was looking at the alcohol in the glass, just staring at it. “Isn’t that a lot of vodka?” she asked me coolly. 

I still didn’t look at her. “You’ve had almost this much tonight, and I bet you’re not done,” I observed. “I figured I’ll only have one drink, so it might as well pack a wallop.” 

“I seem to recall,” Vanessa continued, still calm and collected, “that you only had one rum and Coke back in Camden last year, and it had maybe a fourth of that much alcohol in it, and you still got drunk enough to ‘out’ Byron.” 

I finally tore my eyes away from the glass. “So what?” I replied. “I don’t have anyone to out tonight, so what are you worried about?”

Vanessa’s expression was unchanged, but her voice softened, losing the chilled edge. “You,” she admitted. “I’m worried about you.” 

“Well, don’t be. I’m fine.” 

She got off the arm of the couch and took my glass. Without a word, she tipped more than half of the vodka into her own empty glass. “I’m doing this for your own good,” she said quietly, even though it sounded as if Becca and Charlotte were having a pillow fight upstairs and probably weren’t listening. 

I snatched my glass away from her, spilling some on the table. “Who do you think you are, my mother?” I exclaimed. 

“No, your mom would take away _all_ the alcohol and then probably ground you. I’m the last person who would ever take intoxicants away from someone entirely. But Charlotte knows her limit. She’ll drink half that bottle and then stop, because she once drank more and then threw it back up in Bill’s hydrangeas. She’ll never do that again.” Vanessa set her own glass aside, ignoring it. Her eyes were still on me. “And Becca may think she’s fooling us by pretending she’s not drinking that wine, but I know she’s afraid of getting into trouble, so she won’t drink any more than that refill she put in her glass since the last time I was down here.” I raised one eyebrow; obviously I’d underestimated Vanessa’s powers of observation. “You, on the other hand, haven’t had enough experience with booze to know your limits, so I’m drawing the line for you.” 

“Oh, you think you know me so well.” I oozed sarcasm in that statement. “You don’t know me anymore, and I don’t owe you anything. Quit pretending to be concerned about my welfare already, Vanessa, and just let me drown my sorrows, alright?” 

I expected Vanessa to get mad at that statement and she did, but not for the reasons I predicted. “Oh, here we have typical Haley behavior,” she announced to the room, which was still empty except for the two of us. “This is the same exact crap you pulled on Jordan when he went off to college. Well, I’ve got news for you, sweetheart. I’m made of sterner stuff than my brother is. You aren’t going to push me away by trying to be a colossal jerk. I’m here and I’m here to stay, no matter how high you turn up the bitch. Got that?” 

I hadn’t realized I was even doing that, but she was absolutely right. She sucked the breath out of my mouth and the wind out of my sails. I’d done the same thing the afternoon before with my mother, as well. I put the glass down on the table and went back to staring at it, but this time it wasn’t because I was angry. It didn’t matter how much of a wall I put up, Vanessa seemed to be able to see through it. Even though I didn’t think I was going to cry, my shoulders shuddered. 

Vanessa slid down the couch and sat next to me. “Look, Haley, you and I have known each other too long and been through too much together for you to even try to get rid of me.” She tossed her arm around my shoulders. “And next year, when you’re off at college, wherever you’re going, and I’m stuck here at the fucking community college, you’d better remember that.” 

I looked at her and I realized she’d never reminded me more of Byron than that moment. Normally that would have made me miss him even more than I had before, but instead I was comforted. I put my arm on her shoulder as well and squeezed. “Florida,” I announced, realizing it was time I started telling people. “I’m going to the University of Florida.” She raised her eyebrow but said nothing. “Anyway, Vanessa…thanks.” 

“Don’t thank her,” Charlotte said as she and Becca came down the stairs, overhearing the end of the conversation. Becca was wearing a pink nightshirt and Charlotte had a pair of green pajama bottoms and a fuzzy white shirt. “Unless you’re thanking her for being a pain in the neck, that is.” 

Vanessa and I looked at each other and I smiled. “Yup, that’s exactly what it is.” 

She gave me one last hug and then grabbed the apple juice, pouring into her vodka. Charlotte took in the table as Becca covertly grabbed her wine. “Haley, are you going to have a drink?” Char asked, seeing my glass sitting there. 

“Nope,” I assured her as I shoved said glass aside. “I’m just staring it down, showing it dominance.” Charlotte raised her eyebrow. “You know, there was a topic from earlier that we never came back to: who is Becca going to go to prom with?” 

Becca groaned, setting her glass back on the table and burying her head in the cushions of the couch. “Haaaaaley! Whattya gotta bring that up for? I thought we were friends.” 

“We are friends,” I countered. “That’s exactly why I want you to stop whining about it and just ask a guy already. And I have the perfect guy for you to ask.” 

Becca covered her head in her hands, but Vanessa cut off any comment she may have made. “Hey, now, Haley,” she said, her hands on her hips, her glass touching the elastic on her pants. “What qualifies you to pick out a date for Becca? Who died and made you a dating expert?” 

I was still wearing my school jeans and a long sleeved lavender shirt when I slumped back on the couch. “Hey, I’m doing quite well on the matchmaking for this prom. Remember that girl Lexi that you three met when you saw _Guys and Dolls_? I introduced her to Savanna and now the two of them are going to prom. And guess who else is going together? Shea Rodowsky and Diane Dumschat. And that’s thanks to me, in a way.” Shea had actually stopped me that morning to tell me he’d gotten up the nerve to ask Diane and she’d said yes. I thought the two of them would have a lot of fun together…if either one of them could get up enough nerve to speak. 

Charlotte and Vanessa glanced at each other and I could tell they were trying to figure out how, exactly, I was responsible for Diane and Shea’s date. Becca, on the other hand, was still freaked about the idea that she could ever ask a guy out. “Are you kidding?” she asked me, barely lifting her head off the pillow she’d been smothering herself upon. “The only guy I could ever ask out would be my own brother, and that’s just wrong for so many reasons.” 

I giggled at the image of Becca pinning a corsage on a nine-year-old. “Well, what about _my_ brother? You could go as friends, but no one else would need to know that. He’d just be this mystery man everyone would be talking about.” 

Becca sat up, and I could tell she was contemplating what I’d just said. “Yeah, but would he go? And how would we talk to each other? And what would his girlfriend say? And…” 

“You worry too much, Becca,” Charlotte said with a sigh. 

“Yeah, seriously,” I agreed. “Anyway, I can answer most of those questions. Matt has this dry erase board that he takes when he goes out without someone to interpret. You two could ‘talk’ that way. And honestly, you don’t need to talk while you’re dancing, anyway.” I could see she was starting to be swayed. “And I know he’d _love_ to go to a prom. His school only has one dance a year at homecoming, and he loved seeing all the pictures from our prom last year. He may not be able to hear the music, but he’s a pretty good dancer because he can feel the beat of most music, and just copy everyone else when he can’t.” 

“Yeah,” Becca said, a little lamely. She was running out of argument. 

“And don’t worry about the girlfriend,” I added. “I don’t think she’ll be a problem.” Becca’s eyebrows lowered and I could see she was reading between the lines in that statement. “Look, he’ll be home around noon on Sunday. If you want, hang out with us that afternoon and see how it goes. If you have fun together, just ask him already. It’s not that big of a deal.” 

Becca took a page out of my notebook. She picked up the same magazine I’d been staring at earlier and opened it to a random page in the middle, and I realized just how obvious it had been when I’d done the same thing earlier. Charlotte looked at her and sighed again. “Oh, Becca,” she exclaimed. 

Vanessa had sat back on the arm of the couch. “Aww, lay off her, guys,” she said. “People are what they are. And if Becca’s not the type to ask a guy out, then there’s nothing you can do about that.” 

I sat back up and leaned forward. “I’m not trying to change who Becca is,” I said, looking directly at Vanessa as I spoke. I picked up the forgotten glass of vodka and swirled it around a little, the way Charlotte had done with her wine. “Sometimes, we just need a little prodding to make up our minds, don’t we, Vanessa?” 

She watched the glass for a moment, then smiled. “I guess you’re right.” 

*** 

We laid out our sleeping bags an hour later. I’d managed to convince Charlotte to run the hand vacuum over the couch while the rest of us cleaned up the rest of the mess. The only sign left that anyone had been drinking in the rec room was that single glass of vodka still sitting on the table. Vanessa had promised to funnel it back into the vodka and take it and the leftover wine back to P’s when she left in the morning. 

I’d changed into a Patriots t-shirt and a pair of black yoga pants. We turned off the lights and stretched out in our sleeping bags. It suddenly struck me that it had been almost four years since the we had had a sleepover in my house, just the four of us. Back then, we would have turned off the lights and then been up for four more hours, snickering and then tapering off after my mom came down to suggest that it really was time to sleep now, okay, only to start giggling again after she left. 

This time, everyone else dropped off to sleep almost right away, and my mother was in another state. As someone (most likely Vanessa) started snoring lightly, I lay awake, listening to cars driving by on Burnt Hill and the occasional other night noise. I wanted to join my friends in slumber, but my brain wouldn’t turn off. I was thinking about how my therapist basically wanted me to relive my rape, and how my mother wanted me to be the girl I was before this all happened. I really thought she’d be happier if I were being a little promiscuous and breaking curfew and that’s the largest problem she had with me. She knew how to deal with _that, _even though she didn’t know how to deal with me now.__

I tried to convince myself that my mom’s emotional welfare wasn’t my problem as long as I apologized to her for our moment on Thursday, but that just reminded me that I did have to have a talk with her when she came back. I sat up in my sleeping bag, feeling all sense of sleepiness leaving my body. I’d had nights like this before, and I don’t sleep much at all during them. 

I don’t know how long I’d sat there sorting through everything, trying to relax enough to go to sleep when I found out that Vanessa wasn’t the one snoring. I heard someone rustling in her sleeping bag but I ignored it because most of my friends had changed positions at least once during the night. I was focusing on a small sliver of light that was coming down the stairs and debating on whether it was from a window or if we’d left a light on before going to bed when Vanessa sat up. “Haley?” she asked extremely quietly. “You okay over there?” 

I watched the light wink on and off as a car drove by and realized it had to be the streetlight coming in the window. “There’s a lot going on in my head,” I admitted without looking away from that light. 

“Want to talk about it?” 

“Nope.” I didn’t think it would help. After all, talking about it at therapy hadn’t helped. 

“Well,” Vanessa whispered across the still-sleeping Charlotte and Becca. “How about some company, then? I won’t say a word unless you start a conversation.” 

She didn’t wait for a reply, just came over and sat beside me on my sleeping bag, both of us up against my pillow. We sat like that, silently, for hours, until the sun came up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for all the delays in getting these chapters posted. I actually went out and got myself a real life over the past couple months. *giggle* I know you think I’m kidding, too. In any case, chapter one of May is already 90% written (including a whole scene involving increasing numbers of Pikes talking about sex that I actually wrote over a year ago!) So that should be posted in a week or two. I’m going on a mini-vacation in a week so I have to work literally every day between now and then, so I’ll get it finished and published ASAP. Sadly, I’m looking forward more to seeing _Les Mis_ than to seeing relatives!
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks in this one have to go to Mama Teeki, who stood in Mama Braddock’s stead in a couple scene when we discussed, ‘What would _you_ do if I did this? Okay, now what would you do if you were more overprotective and I didn’t tell you every detail of my life and you resented that?’ heh heh 
> 
>  
> 
> Coming next in _A Year Apart_ : Our story comes to an end when our quintuplet comes back together for one last summer in the same place.


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